The House Poem by Srutimala Duara

the jingle of bangles on a bride's hand
the hopes she brings knotted in her
brocade anchal
the creaking of the beds, the moans and groans
the cries of her babies and the suckling on her breasts
the prattle, the chatter, the shrieks and happy laughter
the sound of the house

ma, I'm home
ma, I'll come back soon
son and daughter come and go
their own nests with the same sounds grow

she sits with him in companionship
cane chairs side by side
on the veranda
their days downhill together
reminiscing by-gone days
now he silently smiles at her
a garlanded photo from the wall

quiet are her nights
quiet are her days
only the sound of the television
blaring out laughter shrieks chatter
the bed creaks
as she rests her old body heavy with memories
the house moans and groans

silently stealthily a dark figure approaches