Great bungalows of marble and mahogany,
Carefully curated artifacts and chandeliers aplenty
Soft comfortable beds and plush sofas
And closets full of shoes and make up
A variety of exquisite sequined dresses
A socket here for a laptop
And a wi-fi spot there for an iPad
And a large swimming pool to boot
Where one could enjoy a round of breast stroke at your whim
At the hour one fancied.
But that is all the house seems to have
No blanket of love to cover oneself with
No pillow of peace of mind to rest your head
The walls reverberate with white noise devoid of laughter,
The unslept couch speaks of desolation
The tea cups and coffee mugs know not the meaning of hospitality
The luxurious dinner table and resplendent dinner chairs
Speak not of togetherness of a family at dinner.
Would it not be better to have a happy home?
With four walls to offer protection,
A roof over the head to ward off the rain,
A chair to rest the tired legs,
A bed to lie down after a long day
A sanctum where one could talk,
And laugh and dance
And still be human.
For what matters in the end is not –
The carved murals on the walls or the grandiose of empty living
But the size of your heart and the beauty of your words