If the heaven and hell exist

Past my window, out I looked,
On the roads, a man had made a clamor;
he shouted at every passerby,
With teary eyes and a clumsy manner.

“If heaven and hell certainly exist,
If by chance you see my boy,

Then beside him, I beg you to sit,
And tell him I loved him lots,
I wish I had shown him when I could
But now inside me, it only rots.

For the gods have cursed me for my sins:
Death would not appoint me
As long as I grieve and mourn
The death of my boy, my only boy
That past his twenty had not grown.”

More than a century old he looked,
His arms and head barely affixed
To his torso that had shrunk
In one hand he held a picture,
that he examined and kissed.