Where Do You Live

By Dr. Bhavya K.G

I may tell a tale of this house.

That house.

When the ladies at the balcony.

Smoke out the details.

Details of the imperfect cuddle,

The little more part of flesh

That scowls out with misery.

Of the swear that runs down,

The alley after the morning walk.

Of that house where the utensils,

Are a part of daily routine.

Not where the love is served,

But a weapon for blood and prevention.

The balcony cries.

For they build it faster.

Faster that they may collapse,

Into a vaccuum that soon shall be occupied.

Where the hair shall turn grey,

And the wrinkles shall make a show.

I kay tell a tale of this house.

That house.

Where the roof stands over a roof.

And the smell of dishes run from door to door.

Waiting for its seasoning with love.

The warmth that would turn the house into a home.

By Dr. Bhavya K.G