The walls hold memories, delicate fragments,
a Moroccan lantern swings, amber-lit in quiet.
Porcelain cranes from Kyoto guard one corner,
their pinched wings poised mid-forgotten flight.
Beneath, a woven rug whispers Afghan sands,
its reds worn thin by years of soft feet.
A Balinese mask grins above the kitchen door,
its painted smile foreign, unmoved by time.
Bookshelves break like cliffs with ceramic tides,
Mughal teacups beside a chipped Greek vase.
Wind chimes hum from an Andalusian market,
their hollow breath swaying softly, faraway notes.
The house drinks travel, each room pressed wide,
years tucked tightly into plaster and pane.
Not a design but a map of long pauses,
a slow unscrolling of where she's been, undone.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: January 15th, 2026 05:46
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
A most artistic picture painted in words Gray and it carries a mood but beneath it all moves shadows of metaphor as well and deep are the meanings.
Thanks for sharing your feedback Soren
You are most welcome Gray
A rich description of a life full of experiences as depicted in the well adorned house. You have managed to give me the feeling I'd been to tea there.
Items from a chequered life have found their way into my home, though I’m by no means so well travelled.
Thanks for sharing your feedback Dave I appreciate your thoughts on my work
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