Surrounded by ruins,
shredded by decay,
spat on by callous grime,
stripped naked of beauty
by indifference and time,
decrepit and dying,
amidst wild shrubs
five feet tall,
stands the remains of a house,
now just a broken wall
that once made up
a family's prayer hall.

Creepers, dandelions,
wild mushrooms,
shrinking violets and
moss of all,
they stand in defiance,
mocking it's downfall,
rising from the skin,
pale yellow, and ruptured
beyond all repair calls.
An earthworm looks up
then rests it's head lazily,
where once used to be
a bedroom window,
a good man stood there
not so long ago,
leisurely watching the world,
before going to sleep.

Bats, rats, leeches,
and night beasts,
descend in hoards,
an abandoned soul
is devoured
by petty thieves.
The carcass lies bare,

dug out, displaying
the ugliness
of it's natural grave,
undead and uncared.

Stillness reassures
crawlers of darkness,

their presence
debases the dead.

The broken wall,

now only a
knoll of earth,
leaps towards the sky,
a last effort at
holding on
to the grace of

a long gone erect frame,

or as if
two hands were folded
in a silent prayer
for mercy,
hiding it's face
in tears of shame,
nothing more

to claim for dignity.

Sun shines,
but stops hesitantly

afraid to befoul
it's pristine beams,
the wind passes by

reluctantly,
sneering in disdain,
the home that housed
a thousand dreams

waits endlessly,

for the pain to end,

for the last breath

to leave it's broken body.

A proud father

once sat in its portico,

gazing at the gates

guarding his little children

playing out in the front.

A beautiful woman

mother of eleven,

spent her leisure hours,

bent, polishing the floors

with cow dung and coal,

her golden brown hands
turning midnight black
while the mud floor

rose in it's morning glow.

Orange flames
from oil lamps

lit little minds at night,

spread light.

Textbooks and hunger
for friends,

penury for company,

eleven kids grew up

in spite of
a poor man's tragedies,

it was a great family

Time went by,
heavens smiled,

ten little dreams
found wings to fly,

one by one,

they took to the skies

leaving two old souls,

and their home behind.

The eldest stayed

searching for her place

in the backyard,

under the shade
of mulberry trees,

accepted her fate,
hoping to makes friends

before its too late,

with her destiny,

in silence, remained
forever chained

to a secret love, and
her parents dream

of a loving family.

One summer night,
the old man died

for the last rites
only seven of his
dreams came by.
Seven summers later,
on a vapid, hot night
the mother too left
without saying goodbye,
she seemed in a hurry.

Her two offsprings
who made it home
spoke of the weather
but never cried.
It rained that day
people were surprised,
they never knew why

the heavens mourned a woman
who died of a lonely
and broken heart inside.

Summers came,
and summers went,

nothing ever was the same,

nothing remained,

the house waited
but no dream came.

The eldest grew old
became a weary soul,
the unwed mind destroyed
by her soul's unmet goals,
losing herself faster
than she could reclaim,
she found solace

in being insane.

Life became memories,

no one recalled,
youth, a dream,
she once secretly hoped for.
Her own footsteps
echoed in the halls,
speaking only of
the loneliness
that followed,

No comfort did
the shadows provide,

except divide her world

with more shades of dark
than light.

Outside her house,

besides her gate,

the old woman

stood and waited
all day, without fail.

Not a word was heard

from her lips at any time,

but her eyes gave away
the seething pain inside.

And she stood there
for someone who
never came by,
but I guess, it gave her
a reason to be alive.

One summer night,

the story goes,

the strains of a melody

caught a passerby, by surprise,
but the voice that sliced

the night, felt like ice,
chilled his very heart,
it was sad and
haunting, he later said,

as if the moon Goddess
were mourning
her missing child.
He wept for a while

before he went to search,
but found her gate was locked
from the inside.
When the night was gone,

and she wasn't found,

a search party was formed,

that combed her house
from day to dusk

but saw nothing of her at all.

Some say she left that night
to a secret land beyond the skies,
away from dreams, and
prying human eyes.

And so, the house
that housed
a thousand dreams,

was left alone
to die.
Sometimes,

when the full moon shines,
the wind is still, and
the night's quiet,
I'm told, one can still hear
someone cry
a thousand tears
by it's side.