Yellow leaves crunch as I trudge on the old aisle.
The rusty latch of the black gate,
Screams as I unlock it.
My hand slowly traces it way over the dusty metal plate,
Rubbing it I read,
Home sweet home.
My footsteps haunt the house,
As I walk inside.
It's complete dark,
Yet I see everything.
Rooms are empty,
But I see it filled,
Just like few years ago.
I walk to where once I heard the whistle,
I hear her say,
'Dinner is ready dear.'
I hear a few whispers and laughs at the spot,
where once was a table for ten.
Clink of vessels at the sink,
Which was now covered in spider web.
I walk to where once we used to enjoy the evening,
With potato chips and tea.
I hear the commentators speak,
'one more six.'
I hear claps and cheers,
And thumping sound on a comfy sofa,
Which was once placed,
Where I stand now.
I climb up the stairs,
Each step appearing like a milestone.
I see those frames,
Them happy and gay.
Now were only left,
The rectangle marks on the,
Blackish bluish wall.
I walk up to were was once a big feather bed,
I hear a happy scream,
As she says,
'Papa, what if I tickle you like this.'
I hear me say,
'And what if Papa does like this.'
As I carry my daughter in my arms,
And she flies like a plane.
I leave the house,
And walk to the backyard,
Where was once nice and cultivated grass,
now dead and black.
As I lock back the junked gate,
I feel the strings of my heart,
Getting tensed,
And I hear a sad tone.
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
Yellow leaves crunch as I trudge on the old aisle.
The rusty latch of the black gate,
Screams as I unlock it.
My hand slowly traces it way over the dusty metal plate,
Rubbing it I read,
Home sweet home.
My footsteps haunt the house,
As I walk inside.
It's complete dark,
Yet I see everything.
Rooms are empty,
But I see it filled,
Just like few years ago.
I walk to where once I heard the whistle,
I hear her say,
'Dinner is ready dear.'
I hear a few whispers and laughs at the spot,
where once was a table for ten.
Clink of vessels at the sink,
Which was now covered in spider web.
I walk to where once we used to enjoy the evening,
With potato chips and tea.
I hear the commentators speak,
'one more six.'
I hear claps and cheers,
And thumping sound on a comfy sofa,
Which was once placed,
Where I stand now.
I climb up the stairs,
Each step appearing like a milestone.
I see those frames,
Them happy and gay.
Now were only left,
The rectangle marks on the,
Blackish bluish wall.
I walk up to were was once a big feather bed,
I hear a happy scream,
As she says,
'Papa, what if I tickle you like this.'
I hear me say,
'And what if Papa does like this.'
As I carry my daughter in my arms,
And she flies like a plane.
I leave the house,
And walk to the backyard,
Where was once nice and cultivated grass,
now dead and black.
As I lock back the junked gate,
I feel the strings of my heart,
Getting tensed,
And I hear a sad tone.
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