Decayed
As I stand before this old, dilapidated house,
A structure fast decaying and about to crumble,
With its walls painted grey and white,
And the plaster bearing cracks and marks,
Memories leap out,
From the moss-grown crevices of my mind,
Like snakes uncoiling, rather like bees swarming,
Fragmented, scented, and sour!
I remember my old maternal uncle,
Who had turned a widower at forty-one,
The presiding deity of a joint family of sixteen.
Most of the time he sprawled in the armchair,
In the enclosed patio of this big house.
In the living room was an old grandfather clock
Ticking away like the faint heartbeat
Of that decadent house with crumbling plaster
He had seen heydays with many ceremonies of great fanfare,
When the house used to board all kith and kin,
And the granary was full of paddy and tons of black gold
But as time slowly weakened his torso
The house too lost its onetime splendor.
His children got scattered far and wide.
They went to hoard fortunes abroad.
But grand uncle refused to move away.
One day he left the house orphaning it for ever.
Now the house is sadly left to total decay.
Its life gone, its soul frozen,
A fragment of an old memory.
Though once I thought I had escaped,
The compulsions of the past
Now I discern, I am still pinioned by it!
As I stand before this house, my ears perk up,
For the lovely sounds this house once produced
And pine for the love
That once so luxuriously bloomed around!
Copyright ©
Valsa George
|