Ants and antiques

Stepping on dirt, broken glasses and unwanted leaves
I stand by the huge window of  the common room.
The leaves are making a subtle sound,
The wind blowing  while my Sebastian growls.
Meow… meow…
He wants to be hugged,
But I push him away for I have a lot to learn.

This house holds my childhood within,
My lovely grandpa and the surrounding greens.
I played and spent the best time of my life here,
I loved my grandpa more than my mother or the love for my father I bear.
I love him still but he is gone now,
This house remains closed and emptiness growls.
The furnitures are dirty and covered with dust,
The antiques growing older and the iron forming rust.
Army of ants have gathered in the garden outside,
Definitely the caretaker did no good  and to us he lied.

My grandpa loved to collect antiques,
Vases furnitures stamps and deeds.
He would make me sit on his lap,
And then explain me the wonders while we ate the evening snacks.
We often loitered around his beautiful garden
The garden where lived butterflies and birds,
Little squirrels often jumped from one branch to the other…
But now remains the dried leaves, army of ants, and dirt.

My playroom is all trash now,
The caretaker I curse!
My grandpa’s armchair is now broken half,
Damn! Why did I go so far….
I wish I could keep his belongings intact
All his antiques brushed
And the garden fruity and lush.
I wish I could keep this house breathing
I wish I could still have the birds here singing.

But too late are my wishes,
The Genie is gone…
The house looks dead now
And the garden so wrong.
The colours are now faded
The good vibes gone
No one to open the windows anymore
When the sun smiles at dawn.

Dirt and trash
The caretaker again I curse,
My Grandpa’s beloved home is now dead and grained,
Only decayed antiques and army of ants remain.



20 responses to “Ants and antiques

  1. time stands still in these homes.. somehow.. and we become that child again, when we go in, from one room to the other, soaking in those memories! sad but ya! somehow we need to come to terms with, people pass on to the other world!

    is the drawing yours?

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It is always sad to go back to your childhood home, even if it has been maintained well. The mental images you have of them are never matched by the ones you find with your eyes on your return. And in your case, since the house wasn’t even maintained, it must have been doubly sad and nostalgic for you.
    Great job with the poem. Loved the melancholic tone.

    Liked by 2 people

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