Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The House


This is a poem I wrote about my house I grew up in and a few of it's former inhabitants. The house itself is not what one may call "aesthetically built". It is a crude two floored house inhabited less with people than with dusty rooms that I always ached to coat with a gentle swab of sparkle, shine and life. I just sort of accepted and went along with the idea that this was where I'd spend the rest of my life. Moving out was never my plan until certain circumstances made it inevitable and forceful for me to leave it behind. I miss it terribly every single day, but have treated the situation I have been placed in without any consent with grace and integrity. It saddens me deeply somedays. In my grandad's words it will always be my home. It will always be the home to his Kanamma (apple of his eye in tamil) a fond tag that he referred to me by. It is a place I always can come back to. This is a poem written in a state of nostalgia and sadness. An ode to a place that will always be home - a haven away from the world, which breathes with me, which dreams with me, which feels with me. 

The drive leading to the main gate at my house
                                                             
Distressed block of concrete,
I always saw a fading life in you.
You took on the visage of an old man,
Making the lives within you sparkle,
Bright lives living in a gloomy world…
The day they went away was one of change,
A change for me; but you-
seemed to have frozen for eternity.

I don’t seem to belong with you anymore,
I have had to let myself escape from a crevice in your body.
It may be my cowardice or it maybe my audacity,
But perhaps I had to leave you someday,
Didn’t expect it to arrive so soon…

In one corner rests my grandfather with his usual newspaper,
His eyes intently peering into it through smudged glasses.
My father looks into space with a glass of whisky and smiles,
Full of mystery and locked up thoughts left undeciphered.
My uncle in his delusional world awakens us with his sparkling wit.

Things bygone for eternity, polished off from the face of the earth;
What remains is you- an undying part of my heart. I can hear you call me. Always. 

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