When I close my eyes, I see houses. The ones that I have seen in my life till now. We grow in a house and are surrounded by hundreds of them. Since childhood we have visited homes – of relatives, neighbours, friends and sometimes strangers or perhaps those houses that we do not remember clearly. Yet when I had visited them, I never realised that one day I will see the essence that each household holds. Rather the commonness that blooms in each family and remains inside each home.
The mornings begin with waking up and planning the breakfast for the family. And when someone lives alone, the plan differs, but the chores are similar. Each afternoon and evening have stories in all houses that are images of a singular thread. Sometimes the situations may alter but the characters remain the same.
Humans can claim that they are different and they belong to one family; but remembering the houses I see that their actions are all repetations of what others in the same species are doing. The culture, food habits, structure of thoughts might have various contours but the similar behaviour in daily activities of all humans meander through their lifestyles all over the globe.
And then comes the night. People are awake in their houses in the contemporary time, and there is a common syndrome of sleeping late in the night or not sleeping at all. Many humans are still blessed with sleep, but the majority is struggling to adjust with the new pattern of life. Yet, what remains the same is that in the houses, people wait for the night to end, and the new morning to begin.
Hope is what humans have, and they nurture that to remain strong.
(Written by Anindita Bose. Anindita wears many hats. She is an Author, Teacher, Motivational Speaker & Public Relations Expert)
Ma’am,
This is a very nice and emotional depiction of a house and everyone’s connection to that place. Specially, I think, this short poem will make those people more emotional who stay alone in a rented small apartment far far away from their family and loved ones while knowing that there is no possibility of having any physical interactions with them. Love the poem ma’am.
Such a strong display of reality…. Well said and bright memories of mist the houses I visited and loved