ON LEAVING THE HOUSE

                                           

                                                   (  I  )

                     "Oh, nothing left ," they said and spied
                             With piercing looks; my bosom sighed
                             My legs slow dragged ; the house appeared
                             A maid with all her dear charms sheared ;
                             Years of closeness cut off in a trice
                             We move like pawns in a game of dice ;
                             I passed past cobwebs that brushed 'cross my face ;
                             The broom swept dust above from old terrace ;
                             Bundles packed quick with ruthless haste
                             All writers hurled like junk sans taste ;
                             Old goods of years' service dismist
                             To find their place amidst rag-picker's list ;
                             Huddled against each other boxes scratched 
                             Bruised and pitted, but none has watched ;
                             Tomorrow, a newer realm unknown
                             Like souls leaving for a new sojourn .

                                                            (  I I  )

                            My heart like a whelp still sniffed there
                            Unwilling to depart, but who will care ;
                            They know not treasures of memories left
                            The links unseen and heart-strings cleft ;
                            A missing beat in rhythm of life's slow pace
                            Upset my poise by sudden change of place ;
                            My mind's eye saw heaps of broken dreams
                            Hopes, smiles, faces and trails of tearful streams ;
                            Like musty silver-fish and marks of many a pest
                            Let loose while throwing a broken chest ;
                            I've too grown old with these things long stored
                            Is this my fate ; new times with old ones bored ?
                           "All is well-packed," a harsh sound stirred me next
                            I left -- uprooted at once -- a life-long wandering guest .

                                                 
+++++++++++++++++++

    
           17th January, 2017                                            Somaseshu Gutala