Absorbed the symphony of growing years.
From lullabies that softly used to fall,
To whispered secrets, calming childish fears.
They drank the laughter, vibrant, clear, and loud,
The heated arguments, a sudden, sharp retort,
The late-night talks, beneath a starry shroud,
And every story, of the playful sort.
Now, when I walk through rooms that once were mine,
A subtle hum, a resonance I feel,
The very plaster, wood, and painted line,
Begin to sing, making the past so real.
A ghostly chorus, echoing around,
Of voices loved, that shaped my tender soul,
Each sound a memory, profoundly found,
Making the fragmented spirit truly whole.
The creaking floorboards join the gentle tune,
The window panes reflect a fading light,
As walls recall the magic of the moon,
And all the dreams that blossomed in the night.
They are acoustic archives, vast and deep,
Vibrating softly with a hidden past,
The silent promises they used to keep,
A symphony of moments, built to last.
This song the walls sing, tender, true, and low,
A living history, played out in the air,
A constant comfort, helping me to know,
The love and life that always lingered there.
- Khushi Kaul
