~~~ Hushed truths ~~~

Every day I still walk towards our house’s missing warmth.
I tread streets of childhood as if it belonged to me,
The door will always be opened
And always will be welcoming
Either my presence or absence,
And my bed will still be there;
Adjacent the window where the sunlight
Radiated by the rough cemented wall
Ravage or illuminate mornings.

The wall has not been there when I was young.
It used to be a sentimental archway of seemingly
Dying trees and forsaken animals
A battlefield of the restless children
That plays even after the sun has set.
I buried my heart on that piece of land – barren and old
For it was said to have a rose garden and rich mulberry bushes
As my parents regale to it in aged and youth afternoons.

Though I never saw a trace of its beautiful history,
Its ideal face still haunts me
Like a long forgotten piano piece
I used to play.
I daydream over that arid land again and again
Against that cold wall
Every time I reach home...