There was dirt,
When i entered this place.
Old teak furniture covered in cheap plastic,
Fine glass of window all stained.
Granite floor looked like a cemented one.
King size bed with imperial design,
Bed sheet still marking our lust.
It was all dusty.
I can't recall my last visit to this place.
Long back i left it
Didn't give a thought to visit again
But then here i am,
Seeing each corner, every article with great affection.
That affection is so pure with zero dust.
I reached to my piano in right corner,
Played my favourite tune and paused.
Then closed it.
My bookshelf was as organised as i left it.
That old table lamp of 1950s,
A gift from my grandfather,
was still intact.
Ceiling had some cobwebs,
Chandelier had a thick layer of dust,
Almost unrecognisable.
Not a single change i could notice.
Suddenly i didn't mind the ugliness of the place,
Rather started admiring the place.
Thats what we call home,
There is something about this word.
It always shows the same affection
Same excitement of coming back to home.
Welcome back!
