A house is a house
with bricks and mortar
becomes a home
with fun and frolic.
The structure of stones
starts to breathe life
when the family moves in
it begins to echo the bustle.
The doors open out
and close as eyelids
a let out for the good
a shut out for the bad.
The windows go with the elements
they take in the breeze
and send out the heat
a friendly application they are.
The halls reverberate
with the chimes of happiness
they too record
the tears of sadness.
The private chambers needless to say
silently bear testimony
to the intimacy
and the squabbles.
The kitchen burns and heaves
pots of porridge and rice
get cooked all day
never it rests.
The family grows
as does the house
the one becomes big
the other turns ancient .
Memories rush and crowd
the human mind
the activities gorge in
flood the house.
The house as I feel
is an alternate to man
he lives and dies
while it lingers for years.
Meenas Poems 