Back home, my own sweet home,
But what a mess, all things amiss.
The mess will go in no time
Thank god, not the memories.
Many a time, I painted the walls,
Everyday, I wash the floor
Glad not gone my kids’ palm prints
And their mom’s food prints.
Is therein’t a little one, look, behind a doll
Showing her face and smiling
Like the dew on a morning flower?
If my kids are no more kids
How do I see them playing here,
Like spinning tops, all around
Or spreading moonlight on my lap?
If not at home their mother
How did she open the door?
And move behind the curtain
She did, I’m certain
Like a tiny star, behind clouds
Festivals we had, failures too
Rising we did, sliding too
This house witnessed all the drama
But we were never in a comma
We lived in this house
And our house is living.