House

If somebody is therein
To keep the things
So the house is

Otherwise the house will
Not remain a house,
But a lonely house.

The house is as the housekeeper
Is in the house
Otherwise a haunted house.

Somebody is there to light the candle,
Somebody is there to sweep the floor
And as thus the house is.

But when the members go
Away one by one,
Who to be called own?

What my own, I see the house
And think about
Its construction and cracks figuring in.

The house when I built it,
When it had been full of,
Now empty of them, all gone by.

Now hear I conspiracies and whispers
On the corridors and terraces of mine
Going on.

The voices seem to be saying,
Saying to me in whispers,
The house is not yours, not yours.

Friends, the house is not mine
Though I called it, took it be,
The house had not been mine!

Now have I learnt,
The land is bought not, but settled,
The house too was a leased one, leased by time.

Saturday, August 15, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: art
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