No One Comes Here Any Longer

This house was a home once,
Ringing with laughter and voices,
Pattering footsteps, whispered secrets,
Boisterous debates, guttural guffaws,
Serenading songs and comforting silences.
It was the scene of serenity and tranquillity,
Of get togethers and meetings,
Of anniversaries and soirées,
Of hurried breakfasts and languid dinners,
Sunday brunches and sometimes takeaways.

A kids’ haven, a wife’s domain,
A man’s refuge and a place to retire for the old.
Welcoming and peaceful,
A place, where weary heads when laid on the pillow,
Awakened invigorated and rejuvenated.

It was bright and sunny on a cold night
Beckoning invitingly with warmth.
In summers its cool confines provided solace,
Soothing heart and mind.
The smell of baking inveigling the senses,
The freshly laundered clothes, flowers in vases,
Just like it should be

In a home.

And then, everything ended.
It is now a mere shell of itself.
Quiet, desolate and forlorn.
The kids have flown the coop
The elderly passed away.
The middle aged live listlessly
Ageing everyday, day by day.
Life moves on relentlessly
And strangely,

Turns homes into houses

And houses into homes in its wake.