Many years ago I came to this house
for the first time.
I looked at empty kitchen shelves –
ran my fingers over the counter –
sat on a sunlit verandah floor and
watched a line of ants entering a sunlit wall.
I had mixed feelings about the house.
It was blank, hesitant –
I was young.
Many years from now, the house will turn silent.
Its walls will remember the sounds
of the years –
of laughter, of arguments and conciliations –
of baby-talk and a voice breaking –
of a ticking clock and barking dogs –
of visitors lingering over dinner –
of a family passing through world’s stage –
in changing rhythms, costumes and faces.
The memories will eventually turn to dust,
the sounds will fade into moody whispers
and the house will shroud itself
in the shadow of after-life –