This house is haunted,
By ghosts of the past,
Memories that linger in the mind like expensive perfume.
Those were the good,
But then there’s the ugly like a skunk’s spray,
Those memories that stink up the mind.
TIME,
This house is soaked in time,
It has marinated in it,
And it releases its aroma slowly,
A blend of nostalgia, naivety, pain, and bliss,
It’s bittersweet, the smell, and taste of it.
It has roots, this house, in the mind,
And it has built trees with branches and fruits.
This house,
Took in a girl,
Shaped her and molded her,
And when she left she was a woman.
Within its walls she learnt to smile again,
Yet it saw her tears when she cried.
This house was a lighthouse,
A light in the storms of the teenage years and beyond.
Even when identity was not known,
Questions asked “who am ?”
It sheltered and gave piece of mind,
Because “where do I belong?” was never a question
But a confirmed answer.
This house wasn’t a shelter,
It was a home,
A place where dreams were born,
Some died painful deaths,
But some grew bloomed into beautiful flowers.
This house saw some dark days,
When Nairobi was bombed,
The house shook but remained firm.
This house wept though,
When blood was shed in 2007/2003
And soldiers patrolled outside it,
Trying to keep the peace.
This house was built with stones and cement,
But it is not physical,
It is multidimensional,
It is an idea, a dream.
This house was home,
But it was left behind after 17 years.
But it haunts me,
It was transported inside my heart,
That house is just a shell,
The real one is inside me.
I can look through its windows,
And see the ghosts of times past.
This house is like Hotel California,
You can check out any time you like,
But you can never leave.
Haunted by this house.
I passed the house I was fortunate to have called home for 17 years today. I have so many memories of that house. We moved there when I was 11 and left when I was 28. So that house had a lot of memories good and bad. There is always that one place where we call home. It doesn’t matter if we move 20 times. There is always that favourite place, where you felt that the house and you are one. That is mine. That apartment on Ralph Bunch Road. It haunts me even though I have moved on.
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