Steaming coffee in the tall mugs was growing cold,
long table cloth was developing blotches of brown mud
stain,
the ground floor was engulfed in heaps of disdainful
dust,
sparkling glass tops displayed infinite scratch marks,
a basket of fresh fruit now lay squashed in neglect,
utensils of stainless steel had transformed into pale
bronze,
rich portraits portraying war scenes hung listlessly
from the wall,
heaps of literary books lay buried under a mountain of
sand,
pitchers full of mineral water now bred a cluster of
fungus,
roof light bulbs had formed a fountain of cracks,
ivory doors of cupboards were smudged with bird
manure,
wooden legs of furniture had crawling termite,
the mirror on the staircase gave ghostly reflections,
wild stalks of grass projected from the infertile
soil.

he had bid farewell to the earth decades ago,
lived life like a thorough eccentric when alive,
his mansion now lay deserted,
tucked within the picturesque plains of the tropical
forests,
the desolate palace was worth a handsome fortune,
if only someone ventured through dense territories of
the jungle,
unveiling the monastery standing solitary in its
mystical charm,
in a camouflage of parasitic creepers trying to suck
blood from the wall of
century old brick.


(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.