The House

It’s been a long time since I have written
irrespective of the needs many; despite,
the various seasons that I withheld inside
amidst the perpetual lugubrious drought

I could see the phantom like phoenix of dead fears
turning into tangible contours of astute enemies
amidst the pale pallor of dark house, they rose
like the shadow on the wall when I burned the candle of sight
they rose and spread on the wall of my hearts,
and the burning candle lost its light.
the light run amok like a frenzied widow who just lost her love
like an aimless shout in the air to summon the ones who have left for eternity.

I could see the vast ocean of crimson love,
turning into a dry stream of crass weeds
the sweetness of youthful romance and summer dalliance
held the ankles of my heart and reached for the debilitative ruins
of whatever was left of it; the darkness of the phantoms
proved too dark for the vastness of my withered heart.
the horizon receded slowly touching my feet
and the ocean was now nowhere to be seen.

Like a house freshly looted of its gold and gilded air
when the sense of loss is ineluctably too heavy for the shoulders
when the weight forces us to fall and break down
when no other time will we feel the empty walls
to strike us this hard again; and then the dust of anger
sprinkles itself on the carpet-less wooden floor
and over the years the dust becomes its only tenant.
I could see the dark phantoms carrying the spoils of my heart
I was also a witness of the formidable anger
but like the vain dust, it only reminded me
of the years the house has spent with no one inside.
the more it grew, the deeper this rooted itself.

Yet It’s been a long time since I have written
irrespective of the needs many; despite,
the various seasons that I withheld inside
amidst the perpetual lugubrious drought