"The disinherited one"

Sometimes I work with a man who's age can only be between 70 and 105. He is old. He looks like and "age" addict, collecting and hoarding "age" for himself. There are lines upon the lines on his face. His hair is an ashen white, his face a carved slab of enduring. He is a reflection of a bygone era. Sometimes I give him some of my sandwiches, and in turn he bestows upon me some of his years of wisdom. Or so I think. For I do not understand him most of the time. My grasp of the Vietnamese language is minimal, and his dialect is alien to me. But he talks and talks, and I pretend to understand. I believe he also finds it hard to understand my stunted Vietnamese with a tinge of aussie accent in it. How similar we are.

This poem is unrelated, but it appeals to me. The meaning of the title is in...the title. Up there (point)

El Desdichado, Gerard de Nerval

I am the dark-advised, the widower, the inconsolable,
The Prine of Auquitaine before hisruined tower:
My only star is dead; and now my jewel-studded lute
Will only bear the blackened sun of Meloncholia...

My forehead is red yet with the kiss of the queen;
I have dreamed in the grotto where the siren swims.
And I twice I have crossed the Acheron, triumphant...

There's is more to that poem, and the english translation of it differs from people to people.