The House

by Ravinder Malhotra

Perched at the end of a winding road
That snakes to an upward slope
Stands a house there still above
Holding memories of my childhood love

The house though freshly washed with lime
Holds memories of a bygone time
My love though lives, no more there
I give it yet a longing stare.

Where through the window by the gate
I often spied her pouring late
Over books and notes by the light
Now is dark till deep inside

No laughter rings the house within
Nor walks through doors a maiden thin
Whose eyes could put a doe to flight
I hold to heart her memory tight

The courtyard too lies forlorn
Each their way, all have gone
An eerie silence fills the place
Without her charm and striking grace

But still the house to me is dear
The winding road I walk each year
At its gate I pause and stand
Yearning for her smile and hand.

It’s now an ageing heart my dear
That moans now and then with pain
No potions work a doctor’s cure
It yearns for her, I know in vain!

I think of nothing more to say
My weary legs yet keep my vow
Her love ensconced in my heart
To my grave they’ll walk me now.

31-Jan-2010

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