THIS' house
THIS' house
**************
This house smells of cigarette
my grandfather smokes,
fire on his lips turning grey
with every regret burning within.
This house smells of sambar
my grandmother cooks,
boiling up and cooling down
deep brown ocean of
silence and fear,
she share with the kitchen walls.
This house smells of red shirt
my father wore,
voids and memories that smells red
floating around his portraits
like flies.
This house smells of drenched socks
my brother wears,
hiding under the beds
rotten and stinky
still unnoticed,
like every trauma he carries in life.
This house smells of soap
my mother use,
frothing stains that's permanent
yet, trying to wash them off
everyday.
This house smells of poems
I've written,
never complete never found
like my suffocated existence
In this house of smells.
**************
This house smells of cigarette
my grandfather smokes,
fire on his lips turning grey
with every regret burning within.
This house smells of sambar
my grandmother cooks,
boiling up and cooling down
deep brown ocean of
silence and fear,
she share with the kitchen walls.
This house smells of red shirt
my father wore,
voids and memories that smells red
floating around his portraits
like flies.
This house smells of drenched socks
my brother wears,
hiding under the beds
rotten and stinky
still unnoticed,
like every trauma he carries in life.
This house smells of soap
my mother use,
frothing stains that's permanent
yet, trying to wash them off
everyday.
This house smells of poems
I've written,
never complete never found
like my suffocated existence
In this house of smells.
-Megha
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