Echoing Doors Poem by Subarna Chakraborty

I even looked back,
Knocked my old door back and forth,
The familiar frames tried hard to repaint,
But missed the color it once was worth.
No frames on the walls, not a single crack,
That held old treasures under time's disguise,
It could be me, or the echoing doors—
Something has shifted before my eyes.
I called my own name once, or twice, or more,
Time stood still—so did the noise; nothing answered for sure,
The silence lingered, heavy and wide,
Like truth that waits with nowhere to hide.
The house stood still, yet I felt the change
Not in the walls, but deep within,
The door remembered who I was before -
I wondered when the forgetting began.