HOME

MY HOUSE, THAT DAY

I gently push open
the door of my house ,
(My home, once upon a time!)
The door creaks and groans
at its rusted hinges
worn out by years of forgetfulness
and unintended neglect.
Entombed in a thick coat of dust,
the house lies in a fitful slumber
waiting to be brought alive
from a dreamless sleep
by a loving touch.

My restless ,waiting fingers
feel and touch
the brooding quiet,
the deafening silence,
( How else do you wake up a sleeping house?)
Old rosewood furniture covered with dusty sheets
my favorite flower pots dry as desert,
grey cobwebs clinging in nooks and corners,
an old calendar on the flaky wall
telling of the time past ,
(Or, past in present?).
a forgotten biscuit packet on the table,
some old bills, a faded blue sports cap,
half a bottle of a cough syrup,
a pocket FM radio , a single socks without its pair,
an open page of writing pad with my doodles,
(a proof of my absent minded moments!),
A stub of a candle sitting with a match box
and what not…
I look at these, my heart skips a beat or two..
“Mind your business”, they seem to say!

I have walked into a ravaged house, no doubt!
Oh! For the evil hands of Time!
I know it now, the Time! I mean.
A vicious intruder with deadly fangs,
(An evil poacher in my ‘living’ house?)
It casts a spell on things around
and works stealthily
to crumble and destroy
with its poison touch, all.

I am a stranger in this strange house ,
(But whose house is this?)
I want to wake the sleeping house,
I want to cry, I want to shout.
I want to ask, “Why so glum?
See , now I am back!”
But words are frozen,
tongue is mute
The house knows me not.
It does not remember me!

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