The Rotten Thatched Roof

I see a rotten thatched roof,
pink, green faded walls,
washed away by dust and rain.

The cement peeps out,
Through visible cracks.
The wall plastering off,
away from the base.

The roof smells of all things old
Raindrops, sunlight, moisture;
Night, day, nest and shelter;
Birds, rats and ants,
all things and beings it has witnessed.

The roof stands tall;
Upon four rotten logs of wood.
Devastated and deserted;
Withstanding the test of time-
of space, of times
Of generations, of eras,
It repelled, rebelled and survived.

Credit: Pexels

The rotten roof keeps undesired away-
For an eye of precision can view
The rotten thatched roof
Of all things beautiful, old and new;
Of colors tapering off to show other colors;
Patches of designs, in all shapes and size;
Of four strong pillars,
Of mysteries, of unspoken histories;
Of unknown faces, of known words;
Of unknown and known sounds and smells;
Of usual bickering, of uncounted laughter;
Of insurmountable sadness, of unfathomable glory;
Of triumphs, of defeats;
Of life, of death;
Of peace, of separation.

The rotten thatched roof
Peacefully paves way to more such witnessing.
To triumphs, defeats, victories;
Sadness, laughter, bickering;
To death, separation, love and life.

Credit: Pexels

A memoir this roof.
A memoir this life.
A memoir this me.
A memoir this moment.
A memoir this thought.
A memoir this Time.

~Shruti Ramakrishnan~

Shruti is a wanderer at heart, always looking for new things to wonder upon. When bogged down by mundane chores, her brain has weird ways to escape it. Reading inspires her and on occasions when a lightening idea strikes her mind, it quickly finds its way to a paper as an entry, poem or story.

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