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Volume 1 | Issue 3 | October 2006 | 

My House
C. P. Aboobacker



In Solitude
She waits for me, my house.
When I am late
She glooms
On arrival
She blooms and sighs
As keys kiss locks
She opens her bosom

Cool floor and warm roof
Twirling curtains
Entrances to various parts of mind
Beds of love
Shawls of lust
Cradles of affection
Mirrors of insight
Grinders of obstinacy
Hangers of woefulness

It is bedroom
With an aura of love
Kitchen with an aura of sumptuous life
Labor room with an aura of fulfillment
Library with an aura of thirst
Toilet with an aura of redemption

It is the lawn
With an aura of play and laugh
The porch with an aura of momentum
And footpath
With an aura of past journeys

Shelves have books
Racks toys and medallions
Stairs handles of statues
And doors have dreams carved on

She floats me in heavenly silence
Loud with melodies of memories
She protects me from ethereal silence
Screeching songs of greed and filth

Windows shut themselves in stormy nights
And open in sunshine and moon
Walls creep on desires
Paintings whisper their secrets
Collages their pains
Photographs their exact moments.









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