A house across that lane

Walking through the boulevard

like a burdened beetle

I move through the bylanes

of hopes and dreams

I see a house across the lane, 

the lane that bypasses the memory

Walking through the doors,

I feel my existence

The existence of a world that was, 

and of people who were a part of me

I stood there looking at the window,

A ray peeping through the crack,

The dust settling its remorse

Where a cup of tea

Used to accompany rain

The rickety stairs

make way for the childhood plays,

I see myself juggling the toys

I find my mirror,

A half-battered commando

A dungeon gate flayed by time,

seems a swag of webbed spiders

Where grandpa used to wait,

with open yearning arms

The arms, a haven of love and

the solicitor of my mischief…

A vacuum has replaced this love

I am yet to find any intruders

In this home, at this place

I find myself,

and question my identity

the world seems to shudder

and the mind revolves

I see the stairs, the door,

the lane and the window

I see the toys, my grandpa

the commando and the rain

A thud wakes me up,

A photo frame falls down

I see grandpa amidst the shattered pieces

I see a house across that lane…