Grandpa told the best stories


Grandpa told the best stories

Winter was born amidst the autumn air
and virgin snow crept itself
above the numb pathways.
So was grandpa!
He was growing old too,
like an aged autumn and
the weakness his body was draped with
portrayed the dullness painted by
the winds of December.
This wasn’t the reality some time back!
he was merrier
his smile exuded the beauty of spring
and Grandpa told the best stories
of wisdom, of good over evil
but little did he know
his reel of life
was not seamless
and that when he would grow old, really old
the wrinkles etched on his skin
wouldn’t be brailled to realize
his thirst for love.

~~~ Amreen B. Shaikh

written for the

19 thoughts on “Grandpa told the best stories

  1. ah..kind of sad…getting old is not always the happy journey people think it is…the body fails in the strangest wasy and weighs heavey at time on our mind and soul…grandpa should never have stopped telling his stories…those would have kept him younger even though his body wrinkled up like an old prune 🙂 Great poem…though provoking as you have seen.


  2. I like the thought that a grandchild listened to his stories. Gray hair in ancient times was considered to be a “crown of glory” on an aged man. If he had lived long enough to see and know his grandchildren, it was considered an achievement and blessing for his accomplishment for living a wise and righteous life. It still is in my humble opinion.

    Regards and good will blogging.


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