Somewhere A Home Still Sulks

 

Seldom the night sits on my tongue,

And sinks into my limbs, the new moon,

Brings the ravenous nights, and I dream,

Dream again of an old house,

That’s slowly dying out; the mist surrounds it now,

Eternal winters prevail and I shiver on my bed,

The chills get into my veins,

Running towards my heart, it turns blue,

In those nights, leaving me gasping for breaths,

I am hidden now behind the walls of a warm,

House, yet the world doesn’t seem that big anymore,

Three lanes merely divide the two worlds,

They stand at one door of the heavens,

And I at one door of the earth,

They were the gods evermore,

I the human, who held the hands,

Of another God’s son,

But my house still remains on earth,

Here I hear the calls of those sirens,

Singing songs while doing chores,

I see them on the balustrade more often

Their tresses flow and I smell the breeze of distant lands,

Where the Ganges still flow,

With twilight sitting over its chest,

The ripples are incessant,

And each night from its waters,

Boatmen returns home with tales of their passengers,

I hear them singing too,

With the swaying rhythms of their bodies,

That brings fresh the scents of another era,

Where I have lived,

My soul flies over the stretches of bygone times,

Homes have always allured me,

Of various shape and size,

Some smelling blissful, some gloomy,

And when walls of such homes sulks too,

They become wet and soggy,

They carry the emotions better than humans,

On their rock chests, I wonder is there a home too,

Still standing, where I had left it long back,

Sulking and waiting for its daughter to return,

I hear its sobs in my dreams,

Yet when I have woke up in the middle of the nights,

I have found the corners of my eyes wet…

Poem by Monalisa Joshi

Image Credit: Pinterest