A House Across That Lane

Walking through the boulevard like a burdened beetle I move through the bylanes of hopes and dreams I see a house across the lane, the lane that bypasses the memory Walking through the doors, I feel my existence The existence of a world that was, and of people who were a part of me I stood there looking at the window, A ray peeping through the crack, The dust settling its remorse Where a cup of tea Used to accompany rain The rickety stairs make way for the childhood plays, I see myself juggling the toys I find my mirror, A half-battered commando A dungeon gate flayed by time, seems a swag of webbed spiders Where grandpa used to wait, with open yearning arms The arms, a haven of love and the solicitor of my mischief… A vacuum has replaced this love I am yet to find any intruders In this home, at this place I find myself, and question my identity the world seems to shudder and the mind revolves I see the stairs, the door, the lane and the window I see the toys, my grandpa the commando and the rain A thud wakes me up, A photo frame falls down I see grandpa amidst the shattered pieces I see a house across that lane…