“I love your house.”
A smile dropped from his weathered eyes,
Gathered around the toothless mouth
Where it lingered awhile.
“Your ocean- green curtains
Waltzing with the wind.”
“The cacophonous melody of your kitchen.”
“Squeals of children
Pattering and pounding the floor.”
“Strains of music minced
With the tapping of feet—a sudden roar
“Life here is still defiant, flamboyant
Unafraid to falter.”
“The dining table— heavy with food,
Pulsating with presence.”
“Strewn clothes, books, and colours,
Upturned rugs, wrinkled sheets.
A melange of youthful sights and smells
All at once.”
“Close your eyes soak up in your house.
Squeeze its youthfulness to the last drop.”
“Houses grow old; their sensuous song
will one day stop.”
“Sights and sounds have a life span too.’
‘One day they’ll cease to be”.
“One day you’ll savour the sound of silence
Just like me.”
(Sometimes I wonder what old people think when they visit the house of youngsters? Does the experience lead to a sweet recollection of bygone days? I also wonder how awake are we to the sights, sounds, and smells around us? Don’t they keep on changing as we progress into other phases of life? Before you know it, your little ones grow up and cease to lisp. One day suddenly, you don’t have any more missed calls from parents. There are no more strewn toys on the floor and no scribbles on the wall. Perhaps an old person with his/ her matured perspective truly appreciates the sounds and sights that the young might term as ‘chaos’. )