The floor is now squeaky,
Walls bleached out,
And have turned dingy.
Scribbled with my name,
Stairs look the same.
Frames have gone empty,
Paintings lost their colours,
And Look no more dainty.
I wonder that I still remember,
The key to my room’s lock,
Still tough & as hard as rock.
My room where I lived,
My gloom that outlived,
And I am back here,
With my eyes wet,
Riding my childhood gear.
