Pianist (First Published In 'poetry Breakfast' Journal. Nominated For The Pushcart Prize,2023. Poem by Aneek Chatterjee

The rectangular wooden box had intricate carving on its top.
Inside the box were, what you told us,
pearls, --- letters from a mother to her son.
Each letter on the letters were like a pearl,
you said. You were so proud of her calligraphy.

I haven't seen your mother whom you lost long back.
But she was inside the wooden box, among the
letters you swayed your hands over, like a pianist. On
every evening, you touched the skin and affection of your mother.

We were four in a small apartment; ---
sister, mother, you and I, --- a close knit family.
We never left one another. Hence, letters were not
exchanged. I only watched you, father, shuffling
letters inside the carved wooden box.


The box was always a wonder to me,
because you made it so wondrous for all of us.
Now I know that the rectangular box contained many
treasures, --- pearl, gold, diamond and many more.

Now a person arranges and rearranges the letters,
to get the smell of skin, smell of love,
to wear necklaces of pearl and gold.
And each time he touches a letter,
hears the tune of soft piano playing in every
wondrous evening.
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© Aneek Chatterjee