Untrimmed Stories

I was listening to this song while writing the poem, and I just felt my words coming to life. 

Weeds grew uninhibited, so did untrimmed stories,
mildew have flourished, on our frozen memories,
from an old armchair, I blew a pile of dust away,
in the musty breeze, chewed curtains gently swayed.

My footsteps echoed in long marbled hallway,
once filled with electric laughter, silence now ricochet,
These abandoned accusing walls, stare back at me,
Why was I here, after years of escaping reality?

Melancholia of your absence, still hangs heavy in air,
over mahogany dresser and striped glassware,
“Yet, It does feel like home, doesn’t it?”, I slowly whisper,
it was time to clear cobwebs and fix the chandelier.
This week’s prompt at Write Tribe was all I needed to wake my sleeping muse. 🙂

20 thoughts on “Untrimmed Stories

  1. "Melancholia of your absence, still hangs heavy in air," – that's very well expressed, Rajlakshmi. Happy that you found your muse, and the cobwebs got cleared 🙂

  2. Loved reading the poem… the connection between the start and end of it impressed me a lot… 🙂

  3. I hope you did use this weekend to clear the cobwebs and fix the chandelier. It's okay if you haven't…yet, it does feel like home, doesn't it? 😉
    Good one 🙂

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