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Aditya Shankar

Vacated houses are like old friends;

stare at you with doubt.

May be in fear of the owner,

an unpaid debt, a ball which I had

bounced on its walls.

But, for every walk in that road,

we stare at each other.

The house has been plastered since,

remodeled, and given a shining paint.

But, i am sure, it still carries the smell of

my sweat, the creepers infront of the house

has curls like my mothers hair, the streetlights

are still expecting a weary father to return

home.

This copy is posted as it was received. It has not been edited by TLM

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