The house you left behind you,
Is still very much there,
A bit dilapidated, a bit faded,
With cobwebs of memory,
Quite often tangling my thoughts,
A couple of nails on walls,
Where the blood that once dripped
Has left its ugly stain;
I have not allowed the dust to erase,
Your footprints on the floor,
Nor have I allowed anyone
To step on them, which is why,
In moonless nights, I can hear,
Echoes of your footfall and knocks,
That rudely rouse me;
I draw aside the window curtain,
Look here, there, as slant I can see,
I see a shadow slip into darkness,
Nothing creepy, nothing uncanny,
I convince myself: It may be,
Another phantom of missing,
A dearest one!
After all, the house is my heart:
A loving home,
You have abandoned.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem