The Soul of an Abandoned House

By Subi Sheikh

Every house has its own sweet story,

One that once stood tall in perfect glory.

Each brick was placed with a hopeful dream,

Every wall adorned in a decorative theme.

Its comfort made it fertile loam,

Memories of family shaped it into home.

Every corner echoed with whispered tales,

Every room held joy that never fails.

Get-togethers filled the air with cheer,

Laughter and giggles rang far and near.

Children raced down corridors bright,

Playing their jiggles from morning to night.

Festive seasons made it more divine,

With lights that sparkled and hearts that shine.

The warmth of family, love in full bloom—

Turned every space into a vibrant room.

But time, the silent thief, moved fast,

And left behind a fading past.

Now the walls stand with cracks and rust,

The shelves lie broken, covered in dust.

Once proud and waiting for every guest,

Now the house sighs in solemn rest.

Birds have flown from their loving nest—

Some chasing dreams, others chasing fest.

The walls now mourn with peeling paint,

Like wrinkled skin of a timeworn saint.

Children, now grown, have settled abroad,

While lovebirds linger, defying the odd.

To them it’s just an aging place,

With fading warmth and empty space.

Each object tells a tale now shattered,

Laughter, dreams—all scattered.

Dreams now sleep beneath the loam,

The walls stand lonely, far from home.

Echoes of love still softly roam,

All that remains is the soul of an abandoned home.

By Subi Sheikh