The Place I Loved

The room had a high, creamy ceiling,

With a white fan rotating the spring smell.

There was only a bed, in the centre,

And the three large windows illuminated the pastel inside.

A little shelf on the wall had a portrait,

Of me and the bygone generations.

There was once a vase which stood at the corner,

It was loaded with white hibiscuses, facing the sun.

That ivory room was never known to be silent,

Here, men and women mourned or laughed at life.

But that Grandpa clock ticked them away,

They all left, leaving me behind.

It's been twenty years now, and I still come...

Although it's empty now and broken,

The fan is rusted, the vase is empty.

The ceiling is filled with branches, leaves, insects and cobwebs.

The bed, too, is gone...

The windows remain open,

And creepers crawl in to make it their home now.

As I sit there, accepting the silence,

I hear whispers from all corners.

Each crack in brick makes a space for fireflies to glow,

Showing me a projection of the memories made there, long ago.