Abandoned House
Once I Dreamt
Of my ultimate end!
I had become
An abandoned house!
A shell gone empty
Devoid of art.
My creative soul
Had died,
My last breath
Leaving with all my colours,
Even my blacks and whites.
My rusting soul
Creaked, disintegrated,
Like the dead windows
That no more opened
To a lively view.
Even the zephyr
Could no longer open
The dead wooden doors
Of imagination.
I had been reduced
Into a shadowless thing
Of no substance,
Of no rhythms,
No patterns,
Tunes and heartbeats.
And then I woke up...
Only to realise
Death was not my ultimate end.
K.S.Lakshmi
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