Echoes of Home

In the quiet corners where shadows play,

An old house stands, weathered and gray,
With peeling paint and a creaking floor,
It whispers tales of those who came before.

Once, laughter danced in the sunlit halls,
Children’s footsteps echoed, their joyous calls,
Birthday candles flickered, wishes took flight,
As dreams were woven in the soft, golden light.

But time, a thief, with its gentle hand,
Brought sorrow and change, like shifting sand.
A lover’s quarrel, a tear-streaked face,
The weight of goodbyes, the silence in space.

In the kitchen, the scent of warm bread rose,
A mother’s embrace, where comfort flows,
The table set for feasts, for stories shared,
In every bite, a memory declared.

The attic holds secrets, dust-laden and old,
Trunks filled with treasures, both timid and bold,
A wedding dress, yellowed, with lace still intact,
A child’s first drawing, a moment exact.

Through winter’s chill and summer’s embrace,
The house stood witness to time’s endless race,
It cradled the heartaches, the laughter, the tears,
A sanctuary built from the fabric of years.

Now, as the sun sets, casting long shadows,
The house sighs softly, as twilight bestows,
A tapestry woven of joy and of pain,
In its sturdy walls, the echoes remain.

So here it stands, with stories to tell,
Of love and of loss, of heaven and hell,
For in every crack, in each weathered beam,
Lies the essence of home, and the heart’s quiet dream.

- Khushi Kaul