At the stroke of midnight hour
I can hear murmur and the sound of footsteps
Moving around in the house.
The sound of things being shifted and moved
From here and there wake me up
But i pay not much heed.
And for the next 45 min it goes on.
In the morning when the sunlight drags itself in And the tranquil fills in my home
I see everything better than it was yesterday,
Nothing seems to be broken,
And nothing seems to be missing,
Before i leave the house to slog myself
In the chaotic verse of corporate
My home looks as good as it could ever get.
No pile of clothes, no dishes undone,
No TV remote lying on the floor.
Even microwave is switched off,
But that’s not how i expect it to be,
I am a slave to the outer world,
And a prisoner of my own
Who never raises a finger to arrange things,
I never did that. I was a prince of my mother’s kingdom. And after she left i felt misplaced,
Lost and not belonging.
The house was an abyss of dirt,
The house my old mother cherished like a temple, and despite her sweet scoldings
She always managed to let me off the hook.
I was a spoilt kid, and my mother knew that
But she loved me dearly. Now that she is gone,
My house misses the mother it had,
The only resident who made it feel alive,
A woman who never seemed to get tired,
Who smilingly took all the tasks related to her children (me and home) as a self care,
The actual caring for her self , she never did.
Now she’s gone, but I can feel her presence.
Watching over her two children, caring for them, Loving them from far (near),spoiling them with her unconditional love.
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