My Maternal Grandpa Poem by nimal dunuhinga

His name is Richard, though it's an English name
He's not an Englishman.
But a good sportsman, my kinsman.
He does upholstery and when he sew brass eyelets to the canvas
Oh! What a Master craftsman?
And from his blue transparent eyes I saw the patchy World.
After my father's tragic death he took the whole responsibility of our family.
He is an asthmatic patient but never grumbled.
Thank you so much, I tasted the cigarettes, your throwing butts
and sipped your cheap liquor stealthily.
He wants me to teach how to darn the patchy life until he died
Sorry, I learned a very little and still I repent.
But I salute you my great Grandpa!
As you are the far sighted Captain of my fragile soul-ship.