The Old House
The past, a time and space that no longer exists,
I'm talking about the past in my mind.
In the dark pit of memory, I can only drown today.
In an old house, the smell of ancestors long gone.
The sounds of footsteps on cold,black floors.
Floors that have been walked on infinite times
So that it is broken and torn with holes.
The sounds of people,screaming,crying,laughing.
About what you'd ask me...
About how their children always cried on birthdays
and about how the chicken was undercooked.
About how the older men went hunting
and how they bought their first car.
About unmarried aunts and illicit affairs of town.
About the time they were kings and why they still were.
About how they were always stuck in that old house
Just a leap away from paradise.
They spoke of miserly things and firecrackers.
They spoke a lot of these things out loud,
And Some they spoke to the walls.
The old house is a pit. Dark with the truths about me
And people like me. It's a pit in the center of
My being and there is nothing I can do about it.
Copyright © Juhi Chacko | Year Posted 2016
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