Suppose you move into a new house,
an old dilapidated house lying vacant,
for so many days, and you selected it,
you wanted to be a part of those memories,
the layers of dust and the spider who freely,
built cobwebs in it.
You take the key and open the vacant room,
a gust of soot dances over your face, and you cough,
the faded cushions and the wilted curtains welcome you,
a heartbroken radio and mice-infested paintings stare at you.
The room, all the rooms, the house has been standing for so long,
holding inside it all the emptiness, a void, lots of silence,
containing so many unheard stories of loneliness sewn together,
waiting for you to wear.