Decorated, Then Drowning

 



Decorated, Then Drowning

A white wall waits, unclaimed, at peace.
No cluttered tale, no grand release.
It hums a tune both still and fair,
“I’m full in quiet. No need to wear.”

At first, we sigh, “How stark, how bare!”
And dream of Madhubani flair.
One frame, then two—oh what delight!
A mirror too, just feels so right.

Brass diyas from Delhi haats,
Silk runners bought in fits of arts.
Fridge magnets from Kochi shore,
And terracotta owls (we bought four).

A console from a cousin's cousin,
It "sparks joy"—until there’s a dozen.
Now each wall groans in painted pride,
But inside us? A rising tide.

We think of the white wall once more,
The one that whispered, not implored.
The one that didn’t ask to stay,
Just let our gaze float, drift away.

Now giving away feels like a sin—
“This Ganesh was brought from a vintage shop!”
Too precious to toss, too bulky to keep,
So we hoard our memories in a cluttered heap.

But oh, the dream of space, of air,
Of echoing rooms stripped soft and bare.
To own less, to feel more, that’s the art—
A cleaner home, a lighter heart.

Comments

  1. AnonymousJune 25, 2025 at 8:49 PM

    Excellent. I love the last two lines. To live simple, minimal is the most desirable and toughest too!!

    ReplyDelete

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