Seasonal sea breeze peeps
through the broken windows.
The old sailor rests on a hammock
and the torn World map on the wall
some countries washed out.
The seafarer rides a hobby horse
which belongs to his grand son.
A distant ship brings him a tear
with a ripple and he knows the rickety soul
cannot stand for the coming new year.
His sorrow is heavier than the mysterious life
and he thinks which he sees the last sunset.
Nimal, I am enchanted by this wonderful word painting.It is one of your very best efforts. Encore! Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This sounds to me like an old lonely sailor longing for the sea. Where memories of his youth he hungers for. (Could that lonely old sailer be you?)