Thursday, 8 July 2021

Pretty Place


Life reeled out
in umpteen slides
of days, months, years,
time flew by
like a gushing wind
or a storm
or a cyclone
but never like a gentle breeze,
raising clouds of blinding dust.
Now that the hurricane is settled
let me put my feet up
and look around.
Those little flower pots
I had watered every day
as by habit,
that photo corner
crowded with reminiscences
of the toddling years
of my family,
that wall of art,
a continuum
of aesthetic indulgence
from childish scrawls
to teen scribbles,
those slanted rows of paperbacks,
slices of fiction and facts
in tidy stacks,
that wooden cabinet,
the ancient hand-me-down,
with its invisible treasures
of lingering memories
of a bygone era,
and visible little tokens
of special moments
some remembered
some faded into oblivion,
that vintage trunk,
a treasury of memorabilia,
and those little pieces
we picked up over the years
utterly deceptive
in worth and weight,
but cherished in their time,
snugly placed and forgotten,
beckon my gaze.
Hey! My home
is a pretty place!

© 

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