I wonder what the empty rooms speak,
Do they talk of merry moments,
or some wistful memories?
When the people are gone,
and the walls are all by themselves.
Is it the giggles of happiness,
or the screams of terror they represent?

They say the walls can hear,
I wish they could talk too.
I wish we were reminded of our memories,
that we once made in those rooms.

When a family lived in that building,
the house was called a home.
As soon as that home was abandoned,
in deafening silence the rooms stood.

The place turned empty,
so did the entire ambience.
The place that once felt lively,
now lay deserted amidst complete silence.

The walls that heard our cries of joy,
give evidence of our dark phases too.
The room where we celebrated yesterday,
is now a witness of all we've been through.

The rooms that rejoiced with us,
have also seen us shedding tears.
The walls that heard our silent sobs,
have also seen us conquering our fears.

The walls that saw us dancing alone,
to the tunes of pure happiness,
have also seen us weeping in pain,
in the embrace of solitary blankets.

The walls that surrounded us,
when we were breaking apart,
have also seen us grow from,
broken beings to bravehearts.

All those hours we spent,
by weeping our hearts out,
are now engraved for eternity,
as clocks on walls of the abode,
we've bid our final farewells to.

Does a house grieve,
in sweet remembrance of whom it once belonged to?
Does a forsaken sight think,
of people it gave shelter to

People may change places,
but the memories stay,
in the depths of hearts and walls built long ago,
as rich history encased in vintage books.

The feeling of every moment felt,
and the eternal proof of every occurrence,
continues to live on even in empty rooms,
It's the people who go,
leaving their essence in places they bid adieu to.
~sk




© aestheticallypoetic