The Houses Next Door!
Everything is a story, you, me, even the houses next door.
There’s something about the houses next door
The stories behind the closed doors
Gentle peek and glimpses
shadows at the windows
the silhouettes are warm and cold
or so in the perceiver’s hold
Do they see the same view?
Do the trees sway the same way?
Do the sounds of the birds,
ring in their ears- left or right?
Does it make their heads turn,
hands move, putting back that strand of hair
that swayed with the wind,
back behind their ears?
At a point amidst my thoughts,
something tugged at my senses
Separated by a wall,
Yet no block in view
As I climbed up the stairs
I was moved elsewhere
The voice of the little boy
Reciting Quran next-door
His body moving back n forth
& The Maulana nodding encore
I would wait for his classes
So the winds could bring me
His chant vibrations, in masses
On warm afternoons
Leaves fluttering about,
Happy birds, and few
satiated cravings,
This must be peace.
Flashing back 5 years home
The Azaan I waited for every day
Reminders of that Muslim Boycrush
Forcing stillness into my after-college rush
Now nothing but lore.
Yet, Beyond and more,
There is something that the Adaan brings-
Body unnerving, heart not racing anymore.
The Azaan spoke volumes to my soul,
Volumes- that my body left undeciphered.
Well, As long as there is this little boy.
As long as there is peace
On this slow warm afternoon
For a while, dear soul,
The rest of existence shall cease.
