The house looked abandoned and in waiting,
My memories of the house but a few and slowly fading,
Time had washed away the paint, broken bricks now lay bared,
But the walls of the house remembered the tales we had shared,
It was holding  on to the memories, I could recall no more,
Waiting to wake me up with a touch, as I opened each door.

My childhood like a distant dream was knocking on my mind,
A hidden treasure grove from a lost world I was about to find.
Aromas from my Grandma’s kitchen softly drifting in the air,
Forbidden pickle jars atop a shelf, a sweet and sour affair.
Grandfather on his rocking chair, forever wearing a frown,
Big wooden stairs creaked as naughty feet ran up and down.
A tall and jaded corner mirror, always made me look so small,
An old, rusty cuckoo clock chiming on the front room wall.
Framed photos of sombre faces, all in black and white,
An unknown fear gripped the nights, dimmed by lantern light.
Afternoons in the mango grove, games of hide and seek,
The cool evening summer breeze, caressing our hot cheeks.
Years faded the memories, but could not have torn us apart,
My childhood like a distant dream, half awake in my heart,

The house had always known, I would find back my way,
And wake up the sleeping walls with rainbow coloured array.
Laughter, cries ,warm evenings filling up the empty rooms,
Playful children , bright flowers making the garden bloom.
The old and abandoned house, I would bring it back to life,
The joys known to my childhood, I would once again revive.