Empty Walls Poem by ashok jadhav

The house exhales a quiet I cannot pierce,
rooms that once held laughter now echo only themselves.
The door still swings softly in the wind,
but the hands that opened it are gone.
The chairs keep their places at the table,
as if waiting for someone who will never return,
and the floors remember footsteps
that no longer fall in rhythm with mine.
Windows watch the world pass outside,
but no gaze meets them, no voice fills their frame.
Even the air carries a weight,
the lingering scent of absence
that seeps into corners and closets alike.
I speak, and the words scatter,
lost to walls that cannot answer,
and I touch objects left behind
that ache with memory, with what was,
with the presence that once made this place whole.
The house is not empty—it is heavy,
full of silence, of echoes, of longing,
and I mourn the life it once held,
and the absence that now inhabits every room.