Of the assorted useful odds-and-ends whose sum
forms the rubbish of a dormant drawer
pulled rudely out in a fit of tidiness-
pins, buttons, shoelaces for a vanished pair,
all meant for use, unused, and useless now,
the questing ruthless fingers fish out what seems
a dirty piece of pasteboard. The flick of discard
stalls for a moment:
from the sepia'd desuetude
of an old photograph, something looks back at us.

For me, it was
three team-mates and a porter round a fire,
the Sherpa making tea, the ridges across
Duhangan valley white with early snow,

and suddenly
a piercing sense of loss.

Joydeep Sircar

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-old-photograph/