Keepsake Poem by Procyon Mukherjee

I remember the black square tin-box

Grand-dad's safe of a lifetime

All his material ended in one row of decrepit modesty

Clothes never counting beyond three or four

Shoes never beyond one, same with shaving kit for fifty years

He never wore any socks, nor have any bank account



I shared the cupboard with him

And the share grew one-sidedly

Displacing, till his part got lost and lost

Into irrelevance and mine

Overwhelmed into additional space

Moving from one room to the other



But keepsakes are forever, immaterial

Tidbits of habit, ownership of the ordinary

I stumbled on one rummaging his things

His was one piece of post card with hundred scribbles

That witnessed the practice of signing

Lest a minor change make an excuse of rejection