Bougainvillea pink
trails from a
crumbling balcony
Fresh flowers hang
over faded shutters
hiding the sight of paint
peeling from walls
enclosing rooms
long deserted
Cobwebs clutter
cold corners
as dust motes drift
through stale air
choking in the absence
of a fresh wind
that whistles past
without knocking
on a once ornate door
In its desolate grounds,
a derelict home
struggles to hold on
to slowly eroding dignity
at the relentless hand of time
Who knows what dreams
the weathered stones protect
from the blistering sun
What bitter tears mingle
with the rain that washes away
the final remnants of grandeur
© 2014 Uma Venkatraman ~ All Rights Reserved
trails from a
crumbling balcony
Fresh flowers hang
over faded shutters
hiding the sight of paint
peeling from walls
enclosing rooms
long deserted
Cobwebs clutter
cold corners
as dust motes drift
through stale air
choking in the absence
of a fresh wind
that whistles past
without knocking
on a once ornate door
In its desolate grounds,
a derelict home
struggles to hold on
to slowly eroding dignity
at the relentless hand of time
Who knows what dreams
the weathered stones protect
from the blistering sun
What bitter tears mingle
with the rain that washes away
the final remnants of grandeur
© 2014 Uma Venkatraman ~ All Rights Reserved
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