2 Min Read


Charushila Bhaswati

She walks along the road,

The road she knew to her bones.

She follows the footsteps that she carved,

Every single day of her old life. 


She walks with so much ease,

As if it were her own room she’s wandering in.

Nostalgia kicks in and her feet now hesitantly glide.

She looks around to take a picture

That would forever stay inside the albums she made from her memories.

She devours each scent, each view, the wind on her skin, and the rays on the leaves.

She inches forward while taking it slow. 


She’s back where she started. 

The gate still feels the same under her palm. 

She’d anticipated this for so long. 

She’s standing on those grounds again. 

Her childhood home, 

The root of her very existence. 


But what happened to her home? 

It’s not the place that it used to be before. 

The big tree used to tower over her home with its breezy shelter, 

Which is now gone,

Leaving behind the load that it carried for so long. 


To find a piece of her childhood with desperate yearn,

She glances around. 

The home that used to welcome her with its brick-red vibes, 

Now adorns an unknown attire.

The echoes of laughter of her childhood, 

Are now replaced with shattering silence. 

Where togetherness used to warm even the strangers, 

Is now left in loneliness with no one to share. 


Her heart cries out to go back in time 

Where she had no worries awaiting the future. 

The home she used to call her own, 

Has been turned into a homeless ruin 

Where the ghosts of her childhood are buried,

Deep under the layers of its decayed soul.


Charushila remains a mystery unless she wants to be unravelled. 


Share this Article
Leave a comment