The house is empty. I am on the sofa looking at the TV that's off. I don't want to switch it on. I don't want the noise. I like this silence, adulterated by the lullaby that the fan sings above me. I am happy nobody is around. I don't wish to speak. I don't wish to listen. I like it.
I am thinking of J.M.Coetzee. I have been reading his novel, Disgrace, for the past few days. One chapter every night. I make it a point to read fiction every night before I sleep. I like Coetzee. The first work that I read by him was a book called Boyhood that chronicles his early years in provincial South Africa. I stumbled upon it outside Shakespeare & Company in Paris. It was unputdownable. I read 7 chapters standing outside, amidst the bustle of the riverside. I eventually bought the book, shelling out 5 euros from my scholarship money. It is ironic that I didn't read it as avidly later. The book is still unread. Maybe, we value things only as long as we don't possess them. I don't want to possess this silence. I won't make the same mistake. No spare change for it.-
The house is empty
I am mourning
I am invoking the
dead body of my
mortal home.-
The house is empty
For he taught her how to become
invisible in love & how to touch
things of home without using
hands.
sensitivity//-
The house is empty, because
Its walls are drowning in the
Aroma of despair,
Its pillars are swinging in the-
Air of desolate;
And its windows and doors are
Shuddered by the
Waves of Drear,
Drear of sabotaging
Two merged souls,
And straying them
To ramble in the dark
Alleys of melancholy!!-
Between Worlds
There I was. Gazing at my future to be in the small crystal ball an old women had given me. I watched as a little girl grew and followed through every tragedy.
To think that this is who my finite spirit will grab on to once it trades my cold body to the cradling arms of death, who will then promise to find it another home and before sending it off, will erase it of its memories.
Gently, I glided my fingertips on that delicate sphere of mist. Wondering how many lives my soul had fused itself with before mine. Indeed, I have no doubt there were many.
-
Empty house.
My house is beautiful,
My house is lovable.
My house made my childhood beautiful.
My house made me to love everyone.
My house allow me to play.
My house allow me to learn.
My house give me happiness.
My house give all wonder's.
My house is not empty.
My house
my mom
my dad.
My empty(beautiful) house.-
The house is empty. I am reading a thriller at rainy midnight. Someone knocks, I open the door nd see that one-eyed black crow, the lame vulture nd the black cat , whose eyes glinting at night, are awaiting for me at the door
-
Walking alone on empty streets
With Faded street lights
Cold breeze of air
Me and my shadow
Always the best pair
Unlocking the home
Everything on its place
French garden window
A royal bed
Everything is there
But there's no one to share
I smile here sometimes I cry
Horror movie isn't scary
More than the silence I carry
Sometimes I cook sometimes I don't
Sometimes I eat sometimes I don't
The blue vase i bought
Is still waiting for the flower
And you know
Few nights when i have cold
There's no one to to share the shawl
I can sleep naked or in my formals
Nobody cares if I'm barefoot
Or in my stilettos
Everything around is expensive
Everything around is elegant
But everything around
Is empty
Searching someone
Just like my soul.
-