Lost, but breathing

I’m not sure if my grandparents’ house could be called a villa, but this picture comes very close. The steep stairs led to the terrace, where memories stay parked to date.

lost childhood
groans under the weight
of smartness

The gate was our boundary during the summer vacation, but the mischief that happened behind it was boundless. The tiniest leaf or flower was a friend. I recall apologising to the plants for burying grotesque stuff in the soil beneath, and watering them every day to see what would sprout.

roots raise heads
in alien soil
long ghosted

Life took us far beyond those brick walls and boundaries, but a part of our roots stays buried there – undervalued yet alive.

libraries
where young minds blossomed
undusted

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What Do You See #356