My home misses a fireplace that
kept everyone together and warm
and made the dust of tiffs slither
out from the chimney corner.
The roof was successful in keeping
the rains out but failed to stop the
water coming out from the eyes.
So, now the roof drips of murkier dampness.
The walls stood high and tall just
like everyone else in the house
who stood so stubborn that they
forgot bending for each other.
Walls of our attic are better at consoling now.
The ground sunk below holding
the weight of the hearts that just
kept getting heavier the nights
they didn’t talk.
Pit tension in the stomach holds more
importance than the lent shoulders.
The doors stayed shut for longer
hours because everyone in the home
wanted solitude but cursed life for
their loneliness .
A swinging, wooden obstruction
denied even a hundred-knocks bribe.
My home misses a pantry where we hoarded pounds of shoplifted love we shared the last time we went for grocery shopping together.
My home misses everything that a normal home has. A family that is supposed to be together happily and not as a burden.
My home, a synonym of homesickness.