Sharper Still Poem by ashok jadhav

Time promised distance, yet memory grows,
not gentle, not kind, but keen as a blade.
Faces I thought softened by years
return with the weight of every lost word,
every touch that slipped through my fingers.
The past sits beside me like a companion,
not speaking, only reminding
how small I was, how unprepared,
how love and loss once held me whole.
With age, the ache deepens,
etching moments I cannot forget
into bones that tremble quietly,
into nights that know too much silence.
I once believed grief would fade like mist,
but it sharpens, precise and unyielding,
cutting through the present with echoes of what was,
a pain I cradle because I must.
Even joy bears its sting,
for memory now remembers fully—
the sweetness and the sorrow,
together, unforgiving,
and sharper still.