The map of his skin shows deep lines
And creases of many years ago
A snowy thick beard
With little curls of grizzled hair
Dotted around his tiny balding head
With clipped moustache like hooks or buffalo-horns
He is my great grand father

He cherishes teaching juveniles
With his hoarse voice
He drawls every syllable
As powerful as a hummer blows at intervals
He smokes his tobacco pipe
A spiral of smoke curls lazily from his mouth
An aquiline nose like an eagle’s beak
He is my great grandfather

The curvature of his body like that of a bean
His wrinkled ageing skin
Eclipsed with a quilt of hoary silky hairs
With several vein, criss-crossing on his forehead
His teeth, gilt and tobacco stained
Diminutive hazel eyes, sunken and nimbly blinking
Roving inquisitively all round the vicinity
Like an owl looking for a prey
Barky bloodless hands always doddering