• Nandini Sengupta

The deserted house

Updated: Apr 1


That house stands there

for ages on end-

It's deserted and lonely,

No human forms or shapes

inhabit it anymore.

Its crumbling walls

and decadent floors

speak of years gone by.

The sketches on the floor,

the broken tap

at the backyard speak

of children who once

played at the now vacant

open courtyard,

are now residents

to creepers and hedges

nestling young birds

who are learning to

open their eyes.

The beaming sunlight

enters through

the slits of windows

which are closed forever

trapping those infinite memories

lest they escape by.

Those high-end ceilings

where once fans dangled from,

are now ridden with holes,

chunks of which have fallen

with passing time.

The house was once

someone's dream,

someone's blood and sweat-

Yet, as ephemeral as life is,

as it stands the tests of time,

the house is now

devoid of soul and purpose,

of hearty laughter and joy,

of guileless love and chatter.

Screeching of pans,

shouts of maids washing

soiled clothes under that tap,

broken by a ball thrown

by a mischievous lad

of the household are

now long gone and forgotten.

The table with lame legs

in that small room,

was once filled with

books and inkpot

is no more.

That forbidden house of dreams

is now deserted like an old...


By Nandini Sengupta

@metaphors_of_life






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