The Past

I sit in my house

the window my only transit -

life has been easy this way

though with a sense of trivial fear

and yet in quaint love, I remember my life.

the morning transits by the train bridge

the weary noon under the defunct fans

the occasional glee at evening snacks

and then the dark, gloomy beds

and yet another grumble

about the nasty dinner on the table.

The love, dear mortals lie in the fable

of a gleeful talk under the moon.

The music that was often played

a chat from dawn to doom.

I sit in my house

the window my only transit -

life has not been easy this way

I love through wear and tear

and yet in quaint love, I remember all that past bears.