THE HOUSE OF NOW
by GAYATHRI NAIR C
For years
I built houses in tomorrow.
I carried bricks of desire,
windows of expectation,
doors carved from longing.
Every morning
I added another room.
Every night
I wondered why I was still homeless.
Then the old wind whispered:
Stop building.
So I placed my hands
upon the earth.
The earth did not ask
where I was going.
The rose did not ask
how much I had achieved.
The river did not regret
the water it had already carried.
And for the first time
I entered the house
without a door.
There was no throne there.
No treasure.
Only a cushion of silence
and a small lamp
burning without ambition.
I sat beside it.
The night deepened.
And I discovered
that Now
had been waiting for me
all along.
Published on the Writory Wall.