Revisiting my old house now on sale

My old house must have 

swallowed a magical mushroom

to have diminished so.

The giant sentinels of

Weeping bottlebrush, 

Pomegranate and Frangipani

that once guarded us 

now seem but average trees

which even in full bloom 

fail to create the euphoria 

felt as we married off 

our dolls under their 

benevolent canopies. 

The veranda with the 

circular arches 

that remained hidden 

by the chick curtains

like a shy bride under 

the full gaze of summer sun,

where we sat waiting 

for our turn to get our hair 

oiled by mom every weekend, 

now disappeared to make 

extra rooms perhaps to 

accommodate the growing 

family of its erstwhile owners. 

The garden where bloomed 

Cosmos flowers pink and orange

interspersed with Nasturtiums, 

Poppies and tall Hollyhocks 

where we chased butterflies

and cringed away from 

the garden geckos, 

now has been cemented over

to perhaps give the previous owners 

more parking space 

to their increasing fleet 

of budget and luxury cars.

it’s only the backyard 

jackfruit tree

under whose shade, my grandpa sat 

on his comfortable folding chair, 

poring over the Urdu edition

of the daily newspaper

that remains the same, 

But then again, without 

his presence, Not quite so.