The stories that houses tell
in the graffiti's that babies draw
on it's walls that have promised to
bear the weight of adult lives
toiling to survive
in the lullabies that each room contains
the fights, the laughter and the tears
stick as paint on columns and pillars
in the shutters of windows that clap
in tandem with the rhythm of rain
falling on a kitchen garden
built with care
by muddy hands
craving to nurture
a breathing, throbbing, growing
in sibling fights reverberating
the institution of their identity
in the careful indulgence of luxury
while saving for a future
in gold earrings tucked carefully away
inside rice tins
and crisp notes stolen from
the husband's pocket
meticulously hid between
in the observation of life
as it passes away
the mirror - a wedding gift
has seen it all
the glow of weddings
and the quiet disquiet of age
in the mutiny of youth
that has crossed thresholds
and flown in search of
the phone never rings anymore
in the fraying of the hearth,
an empty porch
a fan creaking intermittently
Playrooms devoid of childish laughter
dining table devoid of fights over bigger omelettes
a garden in disrepair
a story of passage
from one nothingness
a cycle of life
Back in my days childhood looked like carefree summer vacations playing Gully cricket with my brother who I always extorted into bowling. It looked like spring cotton candy skies and the most calming breeze blowing on our faces as we sat atop the water tank of the three-storeyed building we rented a house in.
Childhood felt like swiftly gliding on rollerblades, the sweeping joy of watching your favorite shows on Cartoon Network and the frustration of trying to memorize algebraic formulae!
It was learning to ride a cycle, scraped knees, stealing food from a sibling's plate while they were not watching and playing self-invented word games till you fell asleep.
phantom comics made their way under the pillow during study time, written conversations with girlfriends about latest crushes found home in the last pages of textbooks in class.
Yet just a few years on, friends you shared a chunk of your heart with become song dedications at the annual fete, slam book entries at college farewells and unresolved issues ended in cold wars.
All that's kept us in each other's lives are the intermittent news carried by common friends in the guise of gossip and Facebook posts
And yet childhood feels like a welcome comfort and warm nostalgia when you're a long way from home and a simpler time just because those memories are of you and me before priorities soiled our minds and pride crept in our hearts!
"THE FRIEND I NEVER MET" is out now!! (Link in bio)
I am trying to be very brave here, sharing this beautiful (I mean life-altering) part of my life with you guys!
Do friends need to meet often or at all ? Is friendship about pizza parties and movie-nights? How do you know someone whom you have never met is a true friend?
I guess it's all in the words.
@kommuneity trusted my story enough to give me the courage to share it with the world!