The cupboard smells of camphor, wood, and time,
And in the dark, a treasure I can find.
Not gold or jewels, but something soft and old,
A story in a cotton-silk unfold.
It is her sari, pale blue like the dawn,
The one on summer evenings she had on.
Its border has a small, imperfect thread,
From where she fixed it once, I hear she said.
I hold it to my face and breathe it deep,
And secrets that the passing years all keep,
Come back to me—her gentle, humming song,
The feeling I was safe and I was strong.
This piece of cloth is more than it appears,
It holds her laughter and it dries my tears.
It is a hug that time cannot erase,
A wrinkle from her kind and loving face.
Poet's Note
This poem is about the power of simple objects to hold our most profound memories. A piece of clothing, especially one tied to a grandparent, is never just cloth. It's a vessel for their scent, their touch, and their unconditional love. I wanted to capture that feeling of being able to hold a hug from the past in your hands.