A dusty smell, open windows
Sun-light just walked in,
Bab and baggage, to make memories new
End of silence, time to make a din...
The bed spreads are out, ornate and rich
Curtains, drape the rays, play hide & seek,
Flowers and vases, bring fragrance pleasant
Furniture new, suave & smooth, rosewood & teak...
Scrub the ambience, sweep it clean
Nip the rusty feel,with environment fresh,
Pots and pans, wind-chimes making music sweet
This will be the real life, in flesh...
People, food, noises everywhere
Smells and senses, acting sharp and acute,
Clink of glasses, celebrations
Cheers to the new treasure, the ultimate loot..
Sparkling with colours bright, shining proud
It's like magic, a wonder zone,
A welcome note compliments the smile at the door
And voila! four walls, a roof, once a house..is now a home..
2 comments:
Dont you ever tire of writing poetry which was meant to be a narration.
I write what I feel..and when I feel and how I feel..
..no matter what its MEANT to be...
...I never tire...not only of writing poetry but of anything:P...except people..;)
Chicken enuff nt to leave ur name...hmm dun u tire of being a coward?
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