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He said he is just seven years old Don't understand what he is doing here None of us can enter the secret spheres Mechanisms which brought him to dementia All that he can see looks so strange His hands are different, old and wrinkled They are covered by tortuous veins Entire body's decrepit Seized with a great distress chorus At dawn of his birthday The day of his eight years The night when he's gone Fallen asleep in a breath And never, has never awaken Dandled in sweet rest Even his own-voice has changed since the last time Tired, hoarse and breathless Asking what kind of disease he's got, he feels exhausted He can't stand up Nobody told him that a cancer is growing in him everyday He can't recognize anybody around the bed He asks for his parents to come but they won't do He keeps the impress that he leaves without having lived Who are these persons near me, all smiling With tears running on the cheeks Why do they claim that they are my children