The Fallen House

The Fallen House

I was in my prime youth when I left the house

flooded by different hues in different rooms-

satin blue of the sky and pinkish love-rose blooms

bright yellow of the sun in the stairs

youth-wild green in the balcony;

‘twas a grandiose affair

when every wall, each nook and corner smiled

each space exuded a sense of revelry.

After long long years, moving round the reverse gear,

as I returned

few gray haired guys here and there appeared

out of the window holes

the doors opened on their own;

entering, some creatures hurried past over my feet

flew out of the walls flocks of titmice

thick cobwebs held my progress;

there was hush, there were whispers

rising up from the fallen bricks

and dismal walls gray and dull:

“Unwanted guests, undesirable activities kept them busy.

The house was not maintained colourful and clean.

They could not welcome the king.”

There was a pause as the past I remembered-

“None lives here now”- the wind answered

blowing helter-skelter with smell of dust.

© Aju Mukhopadhyay, 2011

Aju Mukhopadhyay