It was not her house. She didn't even pay the rent.
Yet, she called it home.
Married at the age of 23, she had to move in with her belongings.
She missed the courtyard of her father's house.
Here, in the small adjoining garden she planted a tree, hoping it would bear fruits one day.
This isn't her house either. And no, she doesn't pay her rent. The far-away daughter does.
They call this home.
Feeble and lonely at 71, she has to move in with her belongings.
She misses the smell of raw mangoes that her tree bears every summer.
A pot of flowering plant is now what she calls home.
9 comments:
I am highly impressed with your feelings ...
This is amazing!!
Home for me is a place from where i can see a night sky and paint it with my thoughts and memories ;)
Very well written .. expressed a lot in a few words! Keep going :)
super like....the more i read the more i fall in love with your writing
Thanks for the encouraging comments everyone :) Really appreciate it.
Home is all about the belongings and the people with whom we feel comfortable. At the age of 71 everyone left her and she has to move with her belongings – So, a pot of flowering plant is now what she calls home. …. Wonderful!! I am touched
Thank you Somnath Dada.
have you stopped writing or have you run aground with your ideas?
Yes, I need to get back to blogging again. Just too much happening. Thanks for the reminder!
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