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Adya Ghoshal

Drama Children Stories Abstract

4.2  

Adya Ghoshal

Drama Children Stories Abstract

The House Of Secrets

The House Of Secrets

3 mins
423


Beneath the shade of a big mango tree,

There was a secret house that belonged to me,

I ran around the corridors with my heart skipping beats,

For around the corner there always was,

A new poetry waiting for me...

I called it the poetry house,

The house where my grandparents lived.


In every summer we would pack,

And leave for our house of secrecy.

I remember how the walls would whisper,

The fables that my ancestors had sung,

I remember how the tree would glow,

Every time into the house we entered.


My grandfather could be seen sitting silently in his library,

With old books holding secrets,

Of the generations Lost in the time.

My grandmother could be seen in the kitchen cooking delicious meals,

In her hands the secret of ancestral recipes.

The house of poetry,

The house of secrecy,

Was closest to my heart.

I would jump around in every corner,

To discover a new art,


It was the good old days,

We would count the stars,

And share laughter in the evening,

While sipping tea from the cups of memories.

There was a garden in front,

And the scent of flowers,

The chirping birds too,

Would visit us every hour.

Sounds of children playing in ecstasy,

Would fill our house.


And then grandpa would pluck flowers,

And tell me to deliver it my grandma...

I would run down the corridors,

Calling their names...

After lunch, we would eat mangoes,

Together.


Then one day,

Without a sound,

Grandpa left us all,

And went down the memory lane,

His poems found a place on the shelf where my ancestors lay...

And the house...

Lay alone,

Now if you called,

No one answered.


Our house was sold...

Every little memory,

Given away...

It broke my heart into pieces,

That I couldn't count.

And then one day,

I saw a picture,

Of the place where once stood,

My house of mystery.

My house of glory.


Our home was now gone...

Like my grandfather...

Piles of broken bricks lay here and there...

I wondered what lay beneath the ground,

Were the screams of my ancestors...

My beloved mango tree,

Had been chopped down,

Mercilessly....


My heart broke again...

And a tear fell down,

As the flashbacks of my childhood surrounded me,

With the house now I too was gone...


But then I heard again...

The ancestral sound,

My heart skipped a beat,

When this time my Dadu had come round,

To sing a song to me,

To let me know that-

Beneath the physical realm,

Lay my ancestors together...

And somewhere among the clouds,

Lay my house of secrecy,

The mango tree was not gone,

But bore fruits most delicious,

Somewhere in heaven,

My house had found a home.


I felt the warmness,

And my heart could finally smile again.

And now every night in my dreams,

I visit the house again,

I pluck mangoes from the tree,

And hug my grandpa tight!


I tell him my stories,

And he listens intently...

And then when the time comes...

He kisses me goodbye.

And when the ancestral songs,

Take me back to my world,

I smile from ear to ear,

Holding my memories together,

Until my time comes,

And I could finally go back to stay,

In my house of poetry,

Among the clouds that lay.


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