Saturday, January 28, 2017


A three-room house
Soaked in time,
Built on sweat and tears,
Now weeps like an orphan.
An eerie lullaby resonates the walls,
The shadows hides in the dark,
Only a ghost loiters around,
Searching for the lost key.


Like a semi-circle,
Arranged in no particular order,
old Lights, clocks, cables and radios,
lay around, giving him company.
From dawn to dusk,
He fixes their broken heart,
heals their bruised souls.
People say he has forgotten how to speak.

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