The balcony of the unpainted house

The balcony of the unpainted house

I left the house long ago,
When I was just twenty,
My childhood grew up in every corner
Of that universe;
I was born to love the place,
Knew every cell of my balcony,
My terrace, my staircase,
They knew me before I could see;
I’d painted the house with my sounds,
With my smells my sorrows and joys without bounds,
My unsure youth dared to step out,
On the streets whistling, playing, just being,
Wasting times in scores, unnoticed,
Until it was snatched;
Went to a new place though not very far,
Everything there was strange,
The smell, the air, the much bigger terrace balcony,
Reminded me more of the place no more to see;
However, I learned to love the place
My father had bought … in time, I
Began to know the place,
Busy and accounted time travelled with me,
Never gave me the space to be in my long-lost place,
Until years later;
My car just happened to pass near the lane,
In the evening I saw children playing my games,
Guys in their twenties whistling my songs from a little far,
I came out of my car;
My make-up was such a big hide,
Stopped for a minute before the unmoved house,
Games interrupted for a while with children looking vexed,
They thought who on earth this stranger could be,
I looked at the house my parents calling my ears could see,
The balcony of the unpainted house recognized me.