Stare those stairs
I try to ponder upon those lively moments where I used to love those creaking sounds of my house's rusted doors.
Which tell you, there used to live somebody some time in the past.
But not anymore;
Or maybe, still there they're.
In the mosses of those bricks,
In the quacked walls,
In the flickering tubelights,
In the thick layered dusty shelves,
In the blurred window panes,
In the cold smell of the roof,
In the dried creepers entwined along the boundaries,
In the portraits hanging on the stairs' wall,
In the mirror where you see your youth,
See yourself taking a last look before you leave,
Pray for the last time to the same god in little temple,
Locking the doors for the last time and keeping the key to not take out again,
Gazing at home for the last time where you lived a significant period of life.
Your childhood dancing, running behind your elder sister over silly fights, sobbing from mother's slap.
Returning back home to lie under the same roof;
But not anymore.
Because life's a couple of stairs.
And you may stare those stairs but can't step in back,
where once you step up, you may never step down again.
So, just do one thing;
Live, before you leave.