Grandpa who steers a wooden wheel


Grandpa who has the eyes like the mist on a rainy day and smoke that forms like an artificial cloud. His hair became white strand by strand, turned from coal to a diamond. Grandpa who, is sailing on his interminable journey. Over the tremulous waters. Who's anchor was hanging waiting to touch the floor, cuts through every wave in his way.

Grandpa who, steers his wooden wheel with his bare hands, tired from hard work, he cups his hands around his eyes in search for land.