Old Lauril

Perched atop Mariner’s hill,
is a house named Old Lauril.
Creaky doors and rickety stairs,
the walls have bricks popping out in pairs.
The roof is cracked, the fences hacked,
the curtains are torn, ruined and ragged.

When the wind whoosh by, the windows clatter,
the glass comes down to the ground and shatter.
The front door garden is dry and pale,
once fragrant flowers now are frail.
In the moonlight, scary and bright,
Old Lauril is such a fright!

Spirited, ghostly, cursed and haunted,
with names as such the house is taunted.
But old man Billy, toothless and bowed,
loves Old Lauril as he always told.
“It ain’t no haunted,” he would often say,
“Old Lauril was not always that way.”

“Its walls were painted peacefully white.
The front rose garden was such a merry sight.
The light breeze as it swept a by
tickled the curtains and made them fly.
Gleaming, it stood in the morning sun
and the neighbours gloated, one by one.

But the joy and happiness of Old Lauril lay
in the man and his bride who, there, used to stay.
Graceful and lovingly, her every touch,
brightened Old Lauril ever so much!
He, with his affection and manly hard work
made Old Lauril so perfect and perk.

Together they made a home in the house,
until, alas! hard times arouse.
The army was prepared, the borders surrounded,
the war had begun and the alarm sounded.
The man so left, and his bride was alone.
Days crawled by but no one came home.

No letter, no news, nothing at all,
as his bride waited from dawn to nightfall.
Weeks and months; the war had long ended,
so did the hopes, which, on it, depended.
And not long before, his bride did leave,
Old Lauril was deserted- ‘twas hard to believe.”

“And now it stands”, said he, wiping a tear,
“all in ruins and utmost fear.
‘Twas such a fine house”, he said with a frown.
“Can’t believe it’ll be torn down”!
Yes, indeed his words are true,
Old Lauril’s days are finally through.

“Me loved it like the angels above,
in it, lived my lady love.”
As he said so he had a last view
of Old Lauril- “Ah! such houses are few.”
That very day was Old Lauril’s last,
as it stood there, quietly narrating its past.

Passed a month, now Mariner’s hill
looked bald and barren without Old Lauril.
But old man Billy, still toothless and bowed
Loved old Lauril as he always told,
“Perched atop Mariner’s hill
was a house named Old Lauril.”

Take Me Home

The sky was a reddish orange. The bright yellow sun had turned into a dark orange and was preparing to go for a gloomy red, slowly melting into the distant horizon, hiding itself from the world around and pushing it into the sad darkness. The time was only 5:45.
Early winter breeze gently played with her hair as she stood outside the hostel gates gazing up at the flock of birds gliding towards the sinking sun in the darkening sky. She gazed up unhappily wishing she was one among those lucky birds who flew freely towards their homes- wherever it be. She gazed up enjoying (only partly) her last fifteen minutes of the world outside after which she was to enter the tall iron hostel gates that rose behind her. It was study time at 6 at the hostel and she was expected to be in her room. She could come out only at 7 the next morning. For one last time she looked at the fortunate flock, wished she had wings to fly and heaving a deep sigh, entered the hostel. The day had ended.
But then when had it started?? For days didn’t ‘start’ or ‘end’ anymore- they just kept on coming; repeating. Tuesday after Monday followed by Wednesday and so on; the monotonous cycle just continued because that was how it was supposed to happen. It never made any difference to her…now.
For her life had taken a HUGE turn. She used to be a free bird- with a huge circle of friends, jovial attitude, ability to think and speak independently, living life to the fullest, loving life to the fullest… but then, that was what she used to be. Engineering and life in her college was perhaps the worst thing that had happened to her. Her college stood upon certain rules and regulations- no… loads of rules and regulations; in fact, countless rules and regulations that could take the very soul out of a person. She knew that for the coming four years, life was not about living but surviving.
Does she sound like a prison victim? Or a war survivor? Well, almost. She felt jailed. In the name of education she was being harassed and to think she had paid for it all! The words used might sound too harsh or extreme, but for her it was still less said than what should be said. At times she felt like crying out in frustration. But then, who would she cry on? For the rest of them, her friends, room mates, were also going through the same thing- the never ending and daily replenishing list of rules, prying eyes of the squad, threats from lecturers and the ultimate deadly fate- meeting the directors...
She hated going to college, though coming back to the ‘emptiness’ of her hostel room was no happier a thought; but better still. Right now, standing behind the gates, as though trapped inside for life, she thought of her family- her mom, her dad and most of all her brother and a smile lit her face even though the distance they were at, pained her. Now she knew how lucky she is. Her mantra? The hope- that 4 years from now she’d be set free. She would then embrace life for the way it would be with a determination not to look back.