The dreary cobwebs block every entrance now,

The portico cherishes in silence,

 The memories of evening chats of those days,

The cutlery in the kitchen,

Pine for the lost touch of mother’s hands,

The idle courtyard counts now,

The numbers of hops and jumps,

That rocked it once in mirth,

The blowing breeze whispers to the rippling pool,

The forgotten story of the deserted home,

The home that with darkness on guard in its every chamber,

Stands dejected under the moaning moon,

When roses and night queens from everywhere

Have emptied out their bottles of cologne upon the silent night.

……….Dr. Fathema Begum