Maa is scrubbing utensils with a puritanical zeal.
I notice the mahogany linoleum warped from moisture
and ants darting up and down the counter.
In the living room, a lizard clings to the ceiling,
Maa chases it away with a broom.
I see termite trails growing like creepers over wooden cupboards
and mildew stained photographs sealed into albums,
lush green mounds of grapes and a delectable loaf on the dining table.
How I love my childhood home,
all my memories are rooted in these four walls after all!
Home is not where I rest my head at night
or fancy furniture or avant-garde décor,
home is the love I’m surrounded with, the warmth in my chest,
the guardians of my darkest thoughts, crippling fears and my deepest secrets.