The poor locksmith who makes
master keys very skilfully
on a street corner
under a shady tree.
Different characters visit him
for urgent matters
offer him a small note
praise his work
and run away.
The poor man's shack is unlocked
nothing remained except a rickety bench
and few rusty padlocks.
His beloved wife left him a long time ago
and rest in peace a nearby graveyard.
His well-to-do children forgotten the domicile.
I am sure that one day he makes a master key
to open the door to heaven.
What a fine, sensitive painting of a great human being..One of your best Nimal. Take care. Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great ending to an endearing poem, Nimal. Well done! ! Brian