Standing bare, naked,
Must have brought a sense of shame.
The days of glory were long gone.
The layer of plaster that once was,
Hung loosely , chipped, in patches,
Having lost the battle with nature’s elements since long.
The bare skeleton of the house stood at the street corner.
Dark, desolate, lonely,
Devoid of life.
No one cared.
No one was left to care!
Except, perhaps, the banyan tree!
The tree had enveloped the house,
It’s roots moving all over,
Creeping over the ledges,
Slithering down the walls,
wedged firm into the cracks and crevices in the wall,
Travelling inside through the broken window frames and hanging loose over the plaster peeled walls,
Like decorations of brown streamers!
The banyan tree had once sprouted in a corner of the terrace.
The house was, then, full of life.
The young sapling had drawn nourishment and dug roots.
Today, when everyone had gone away,
the banyan tree was there-
like a guardian mother
It’s arms wrapped protectively.
Like an inseparable friend.
Like two lovers
Hugging and clinging on to each other,