Silence for what seems like decades,
Endless periods of time,
In this small choking room,
With charred walls
And torn curtains,
With nothing but dust hanging in midair.
Clocks had stopped ticking,
And water doesn’t drip-drop anymore
From the never-sealed tap.
No sunshine beaming through my window,
No birds chirruping in my garden,
Only dry dead branches,
Dry baked earth,
The smell of cobwebs and rot.
Sitting in my corner for so long,
I’ve become almost as lifeless
As this place itself.