She remained to me
A friend, philosopher and guide
Till she was alive
And after her departure.
She was very fond of me
And often used to say –
‘You are very much like mine’.
She was my Grandma
It’s twenty years now
She left for heavenly abode
At the age of ninety-five.
She was beautiful and suave
Kind and forgiving
Had a strong will power
Loved to do justice to all
Married around seventeen
A devoted mother and grandmother
To a family rather large.
During her lifetime
She transferred her fortune
To her children and their children
And a part of it
For the needy and poor,
But for an old rusted box
In her cupboard
She never allowed anyone
To have an access to it
Or even come close at all.
Kith and kins
Would always be curious
And even suspicious
Sure, mysterious box contains
Priceless jewels,
May be gold ornaments or coins
Or even rare diamonds
Mama hailed from a noble family,
A royal blood after-all.
Otherwise content and cheerful,
Grandma would sometimes
Become reclusive for days
Apparently detached and sad
And everyone else would assume
She’s in the usual blues of old age
Except me with an intuition
It had something to do
With that old little box.
Grandma’s strict command was
After her death
Nobody should open that box
And I should give it to the fire
Along-with her body remains
In her funeral pyre.
Alas! but for kin’s greed
And their goddamn curiosity
The box was later opened
In the presence of sundry and all.
All that it contained –
A few childhood artifacts
A worn out white hanky embroidered ‘K’
A faded letter from some unknown ‘K’
Besides a few old letters of Grandma
Which were never dispatched at all.
Everyone simply laughed
And turned back away, but
My anxiety and a bit curiosity
Led to revelation of truth
Enough to put me for long
Gloomy and sad for her.
It has been many years now
The old rusted box
‘Grandma’s Treasure Trove’
Lies still deep buried
In my bungalow’s backyard
And reminds me of an old adage
The true love is one
That dies untold.
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