The old house
By Arun Richard Chandrasekaran
Beyond the woods, in a lonely forest
There stood a tall, majestic mansion –
The stately residence of our forefathers,
And also mine, in a time uncertain.
The idyllic gates which once were strong
Are now a weak and rusted pair
Though once a barrier to trespassers
They now lack passers-by to stare.
I made the door to open gently,
As if it were about to fall;
It long had yielded to many a knock
For needs of the rich, the poor and all.
The sad and silent living room
No longer seemed to be alive –
Enjoyment, laughs and stories forgotten –
Web spinners had made it their hive.
The radiant windows once gleaming with light
Were now all scarred, with broken panes,
Darkness hung over all the place
As windows closed their eyes to the rains.
The towering walls once starred with paintings
Were now mere shadows of former years;
The scathed, decaying torn-off faces
Awakened my despair and fears.
Nature’s view from the balcony
Had been a sure source of delight;
But the railing’s lack of surety
Now kindled uncertainty and fright.
The terrace was soaked and seemed quite plain,
Cracked throughout, with its beauty paled;
My touch on the wall made a tile to fall –
And at that moment, my heart beat stalled.
Rusted and scarred, frail and cracked –
Once the pride and jewel of my father;
Humbled was now this old, old house
As time, in its flight, refused to bother!
Beyond the woods, in a lonely forest
Still stands this meek and shy old mansion –
The haven of my forefathers,
And also mine, in a time uncertain.
Arun Richard Chandrasekaran received his PhD from New York University and is currently a research scientist at The RNA Institute at the University at Albany. Apart from scientific writing, he enjoys reading and writing poetry. Arun’s poetry reflects on past experiences, societal happenings, and musings of my own.