In the afternoon
My father’s portrait
Hanging on the wall
Swings like
Last implicit words
The wind from the east
Signs the arrival of
summer
Windows patter with
themselves
Bidding farewell to
the winter
The window glasses
Gesture a common smile
Of Parting and welcome
In replica
Some souls are
Embedded in the walls
of the home
With shades of water
colours
Breathing more than
life time
Houses are engraved
fortifications
And I am alone now
Waiting for the
homecoming of son
From school
The warmth in the air
Intimating humid time
Curing the intestate mind
The erroneous zones
Shed wet inscriptions
On the foot steps of doors
Like a snail
Weather is altering
Through all the open
ventilators
And the grandson
arrives
Painting on the wall
comes to standstill
The inner walls bells
Echo consequently to
the weather
Homes do not wither
away
14-2-13
2 comments:
beautiful, reminiscent of humble tones within the mist of the tranquil mind....xx
The arriving and departing of generations, in the same manner as the coming and going away of the ever changing cycle of weather, is witnessed, adorned and etched into the windows, doors and walls of the home; where memories of the travellers on their journey of life stand still and remain a witness to what has been the past and that which is now. Homes do not wither away with the weather, unlike the fragility of the physicality of human existence. Very very nostalgic lines and extremely thought provoking lines Satya Sir.
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