An Eleven Year Old Mention
They entitle it; yet another shadowy scene; a night of dissatisfaction
Welcome to a delusion, an eleven year old mention;
Few rooms, a kitchen and dark;
With few entrants, and a park;
Pretty at first, vacant at the next sight
Austere or steady? Luxurious or might?
A giant white door opens with a sinister sound;
Air so tepid, place so serene, bricks yet loopy, stockades still around;
One of a kind mention, a legendary found.
Gorgeous plot with roses of jasmine,
Days of fame instants unseen;
Covered with dew, every leaf,
Nights of fall, howls in grief;
Rooms full of drawers, blank as they were,
Triviality in life or just a metaphor?
Mirror soaked, as a cascade in sunshine,
Emergence so tedious, wind inter-twined;
Aloofness at heart, or just history?
No place to unwind, still, roars left auditory.
A massive stairway leading to the roof,
Too many steps, each step each proof,
A huge vase lies in the middle, sparkling as new;
On the contrary, yet, to the house, a riddle;
Roof was also, empty as a plate,
Still the coldness grabbing me it's been too late;
In the backyard a tree deep rooted,
Needs water, in order to be fruited.
Only branches like a skeleton remain
With the wind it shutters, suffering pain.
Yet, it's so high, almost reaching the clouds;
With this pretense…. it's reach, I doubt!
With it, a faultily bent clamor chair;
Moving too n fro, like someone was just there.
At habitual I grasped, it was too much to see.
It was a no man's land, the only person there was me.