My Old House Poem by Dr Mukta Kamplikar

My old house wasn’t particularly cold
Just that it seemed a bit too old
Older than before
Graying a bit too soon
Like the threatening clouds this monsoon
The old well refused to tell its story
To the fresh new champa flowers …this season
Bored without reason…
As if, with the smell of rain
It felt the pain of growing old without being able to express itself
Just that it did not know how to say
that something to me today
Familiar trees their wild branches on each side
Stared like I was a stranger
And yet spread their arms wide
The birds were busy making their homes under the domes
And the blistering paint from the walls caressed them before it fell to the ground
There were many signs of habitation around
The old fashioned door shuts the wind
Cast off carpets the color of lemon rind
The key shows places it had been touched again and again
The terrace its vertigo insane
And the love in the air
That even a burglar would feel if he came to steal
My old house wasn’t particularly cold
Just a bit old
Older than before