Windows of/to the times bygone

They say every house has a tale of its own. Yesteryear's present becomes today’s past and the tale keeps spinning till nothing remains “Maybe”.

We stayed here together with our share of joys and sorrows, the noise of life reverberated around me and now what remains are echoes of distant memories. I lent shelter against rain and sun and they
adored and loved me in return . It appeared to me then that the pact between us will be honored for ever, a dream which would never come to its end.

In lonely afternoons I doze off with my doors open for all my friends who have left, Sometimes I hear the children running around me their shrieks too familiar to the ones who lived here once, I rise from my
reverie to find loneliness and a gentle breeze criss-crossing the windows. A whisper of their presence or absence.

Today as I stand alone waiting for reclamation by nature I peep into my windows more than I peep out. They still live here it is probably just that am too senile to see them, in silent afternoons like this l see their shadows on the ground when they stand on the edge, and shadows don’t lie.
Jaigarh Fort, Ganpatiphule

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