The Grey Memories Poem by Shouvik Roy

I remember in fragments,
How I would come and sit on your lap
And you would push me away;
With your wrinkled hands,
Subtly, a pretense
Of tiredness, ache and misery in it;
That old age brings,
I was too young to comprehend;
Even when I asked you,
Why the fish remain afloat
And why the pond is colored black,
You would ignore, give me excuses of time
And some errands you had to run;
I remember,
I tried to hold a strand
Of your grey hair that seemed white,
While you dig your head deep
Into the caged rigid words;
You would repel, hold my hand tight
And call my mother's name out loud,
She would come and take me away,
A sigh of relief
And the digging would continue,
Truly, too young to know

I remember, now well I do,
How I would put my hand on your shoulder,
And you care not to even look back,
You walk away,
My hand back with me, I stand still,
Waiting for a sudden turn of the head,
Which never happened;
But today, I sit here under the old tree
And write,
Thanking you,
For a gift;
The first, the last and the best by you,
Your son, my father;
A father, greater than you