The House Remembers Poem by ashok jadhav

The rooms lie still, shadows stretching long,
each corner holding the shape of absence.
The door clicks softly in the wind,
but no hand returns to close it.
The chairs remain as they were left,
silent witnesses to laughter now gone,
and the floors echo only my own steps,
hollow reminders of company lost.
Windows frame the same sky,
yet it feels different without your eyes upon it,
and even the air seems heavy,
thick with the memory of your voice.
I touch objects that once knew your touch,
and grief gathers in their quiet forms,
a subtle weight that the walls themselves carry,
marking every space with what remains unseen.
The house breathes in the rhythm of absence,
and I walk its hallways like a mourner,
learning that a home is more than walls and roof—
it is presence,
and without you, it mourns with me.