The little Old Console

Delicate chunk of willow,
it stood quietly ,

in the passage.

Intricate carvings

varnished with definition,
It subtly adapted to the family

without any inhibition.

It carried beautifully,
Yellow Flowers

in blue Chinese pots.
Mother warning the children

‘treat it as a touch-me-not!’

In its journey

from a log

to a sculpted beauty,
It witnessed both life

and immortality.

It was there, there always,
in the echoing chuckles

and noisy fights.
in silent perseverance,
and epitomised delight.

Not for once, not at all,
It never creaked

or crackled.
It just aged,

aged with grace,
either to be treasured,
or sent into shambles.

To its unexpected surprise,

on a crispy summer morning,
it had to change homes,
Not of new strangers,
but of faces old known.

Three decades now,

now it had faith,
‘Neither will I be trashed

nor insensitively sold.
I will remain,

an eternal memory ,

their precious console.’

– Nithi CJ

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