The wooden door
was always shut,
the window blinds drawn.
The sun streamed down
on the orange bricks
on the blue-tiled roof
on the garden where wild things grew.
We played many games
in the tangled patch.
And the house stayed shut,
the window blinds drawn.
Only once,
looking for a place to hide
through a cracked pane
I peeped inside.
Authors :
Alaka Yeravadekar
Alaka Yeravadekar is writer, trainer, and consultant. Her poems, writings, and photographs have been published in various print and online magazines.She loves to identify herself as “an avid birdwatcher and naturalist, who enjoys music, and occasionally blogs on food, and dabbles in art.”
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Ah the touch of FF in a poem, Alaka.
Mighty good, refreshing and haunting at the same time…
Max
Wonderful poem, Alaka
Max, Amitabh,
Thanks for your comments!
Alaka