He leans back on the arm-chair,
A cup of tea by his side;
Nothing in the newspaper
That can shock these wrinkled eyes.
He looks at the walls;
He looks at the clock;
With every space filled;
His house still feels empty.
Memories of his home
Attempt to fill the void in his heart.
The blank white walls of his house;
Take him to his colourful aangan in Sindh.
His smartphone beeps with a message
“ Taakhe chetichand ji vadhayun”;
The smartphone’s lit display
Reminds him of his mother’s colourful saree.
The way its colour would bring out her eyes;
The purchased Lolas are placed on the pan;
Cold and without their real essence.
A bite into it and he reminisces the aroma
Of the ones his mother made.
Their fragrance would wake him up;
And he would charge towards the kitchen
With tiny steps and the biggest smile.
His nightmares are memories of his home;
When he wakes up in cold sweat
All he can see are blank walls;
All he can feel are forced stories of the present;
Refusing to co-exist with the memories
Of his once and always beloved home.