In a Room full of unuttered words,
Monotony creeps in through the window.
Dying notes compose an unfamiliar melancholy,
And the birds begin to crescendo.
Bonfires of wishes glow in the black,
We often get tricked by some qualities that they lack.
The Room is proud of his years,
For it is not easy to hide stories and the stains of tears.
The dusty experience of the paintings,
Portray incidents that often tarnish the Room.
Never do we see him,
Lost in the shadows of gloom.
A framework so strong,
Nobody dares to tamper with his core.
Years pass and decades roll,
He still welcomes his folks with an opened door.