Tufts of dust 

Caper about my mosaic glass.

Blotches of ferric rust 

Offer me an unceremonious welcome at last.

 

Things I'd once befriended

Seem distant and cold.

Deaf ears to the chime of my footsteps

Tell me they've forgotten their companion of old.

 

I wonder when those mellifluous repartees

Turned into hollow echoes,

And the blithe breeze 

Into a stifling coat.

 

Not an iota of joy they spark,

The ones frequented floors.

The fitments begotten from ebony barks 

Barely feel home.

 

I'm an alien in my own place;

A deadweight in my own space;

A pesky visitor;

Perhaps even a traitor.

 

Where did my home go?

Where can I ascertain its whereabouts?

Where can I scour for the same comfort? I want to know,

For all that remains is a mere house.

 

Shifa