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