Outside my ancestral home,
I revisit those memories of childhood,
Clink of my anklets in the yard,
Pumping out water from the well,
Our endless giggles as we play,
Chasing the colourful kites
across the fence,
What I see now is an illusion
Everything wrapped in spider’s hammock,
Behind the rusted lock,
Still fresh are my memories,
My doll dressed in years of dust,
And the grandfather’s rocking chair,
Sip of the petrichor in my tea
And this dew upon the garden trees,
Everything has changed in real
But it’s still the same in my illusion!