This is where people meet 
They fall in love 
They settle down 
Though not carefully designed. 

Riding in trains, buses, and ferries, 
Running after those dreams, 
Take them with the heart, 
And cannot brush them aside, 
Or push them under, 
The mildewing carpet of memory. 
Find the final solace, 
Under the tapestry of thy shade. 

This's not mere brick n cement, Stone, or wood. 
For thick and thin, joy or sorrow 
A mute spectator, thy stood. 

Everything's possible, Within the four walls. 
Holds a thousand memoirs, 
Images carefully orchestrated. 

This is the secret place 
Where to grow, to dream, 
Hide secret love, mating, gossiping 
Behind those enclosures. 

When trouble comes knocking, 
From the outer sphere 
To this murky world, 
You hide me. 

As a powerless inhabitant 
I slept under your warmth, 
From emotional fragile state, 
Got access to a different world. 

My mind is craving 
To come back to thee To lie down,
the comfort of the couch, 
You offered always. 

To breathe the air 
Caressed with the incense 
Of Jasmine, Rose, Nisagandhi, 
To listen to the lullaby 
Thou utters, at sleepless nights. 

Wanna become a child, 
To play in the sugary sand. 
Dreams in the eyes, 
But no outlet or avenues. 

My dear home, 
Now a skeleton, 
A coral of past glory Either the people around, 
A blur or just a voice 
There's no life 
To bring cheers or hope. 

Like a crying berceuse, 
Hears the buzzing, 
And lost to the cacophony, 
Of the journey of life...

Follow K. Syamala