Memory Box

All my past shadows have been stored here in this room,

Childhood stories let the visitors in,

A box at the corner, unused clothing, silver ornaments,

Grandma’s sarees embrace those woven threads,

Striking floral fabric with red border

And a grace that never goes out of style,

Cracked weather bitten hands always caring,

Beneath those glistening eyes, there are pools,

The low notes of the evening songs

Played with violin, rest quietly on the dust and dirt

Of the window sill,

The blurred black and white photos on the wall

Reminisce dew laden morning and tweets of the tiny birds,

Long, slim, little boats are as if floating haystacks

Moored on the water, overlooking the crumbling patio,

There is no tedium in the shallows of the river.

Still curious are the pigeons on the iron railings

Not a word they use in despair, in hidden tears.

@gopallahiri

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