House But No Home

By Aaradhya Sinha

And even after I built a house,

Modern and exquisite,

It doesn’t feel like home.

The people are scattered,

too busy chasing clocks and calendars.

Souls departed,

threads once tied

now frayed and out of reach.

The house I had before?

Old, ancient, crumbling in corners,

yet full of love.

Nights spent over dinner tables,

laughing and smiling.

Now? It all fades

into cold meals

and the silent humming of the fan.

Did I lose the people?

Or did I lose myself?

Amidst winter sunlight

spilling gold over terrace bricks

which somehow feels colder than before—

and amidst mango trees,

once green and lush,

now dusted in tired bloom,

Was it all just perspective? 

Or did I simply…

grow up?

By Aaradhya Sinha