The Crumbling Glory

 

The garbled windows on the antique structure

Looked a spectre.

Their sills colored dark by the coiled foliage

Untamed, free.

The visible darkness within, sure camouflages

A secret or secret soul, spirit or ghost.

No one lives there, no one wants to.

A habitat too musty for the living present.

Yet, the seven broken steps that led to the cottage door,

Sure seemed a favorite haunt for

Frolicking children by the score.

 

The silent rooms sheltered sure

The dreamy and the scheming humanity of yore.

But no one lives there, no one wants to.

 

The banyan and the pine that grew and wasted

And grew again, stood sentinel

In straight patience,

Watching the happy and the hapless

Of generations past, spacing the yard.

They shelter still, creatures

Winged and wingless.

 

Strange, how nature is sacrosanct

But things man-made sacrilegious.

Even so, the house fissured and decayed

Priceless value to its ruins attached.

For, those moving about the old mansion

Color it in shades of scintillating imagination

Mixing time, space and action.

 

The specter Good God! Turns into

A thing of beauty, rare and treasured.

 

Senderís brief bio-data

Dr. (mrs) Jaya Lakshmi Rao V.

Reader in English, Mrs. A.V.N. College, Visakhapatnam.