Rhyming ~ An Old House Telling Story Of Its Master! ! Poem by Hemant Arora

Gone is the time,
When I was healthy and rich;
I still wonder your departure
Was an accident or ditch!
I shone and danced,
In the music of your voice;
Now, I silently glance,
Expressions as cold as ice.

An argument, a drift,
Turned into a disaster;
I wish I could speak,
And stopped you my master.

She shouts, she cries,
And blame herself, my poor mistress;
She’s dead with alive body,
Like a statue of distress;
We both share an empty part,
Which once you filled,
Two broken hearts
With the feeling of guilt;

Years have passed,
Our gaze still looks over the hope..
to see you again..
O! ! My Master! ! !