194 Kenilworth Street /Kamalika Bhattacharya

194 Kenilworth Street

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Kamalika Bhattacharya

Peeping through the frosted glass,

A lush green field whispers its past.

There stands a maple, serene and tall,

Its roots cradle secrets of summer and fall.

Across the road, the old Church lies,

Its spire piercing the amber skies.

In the golden-bordered mirror, I see,

The maple tree etched in memory.

Early fall paints the world in fire,

Leaves ignite with hues that inspire.

The branches sing of you and me,

Of days when love flowed wild and free.

The autumn wind, a painter bold,

Brushes life with red and gold.

The squirrels dance on branches high,

Chasing dreams beneath the sky.

Their playful chirps break the hush,

As leaves fall down in a golden rush.

One by one, the leaves drift down,

Years unravel, silent and profound.

The boots echo through the afternoon hush,

Breaking the spell of nature’s blush.

I wait for the postman’s steady knock,

For a letter to halt the ticking clock.

No letters come, just scraps and bills,

Loneliness deepens, the silence stills.

I look to the maple, its colors fade,

A witness to dreams that time mislaid.

Through the flap door slips a gentle breeze,

The cat no longer comes with ease.

Once playful paws, now a shadow gone,

Leaving me to face this world alone.

Late fall strips the maple bare,

Its silhouette whispers in the thinning air.

The branches stretch like ink on the sky,

Etching tales of love that will never die.

Snow blankets 194 Kenilworth Street,

A silence profound, a hush complete.

Logs crackle in the fireplace warm,

Sparks like fireflies, memories swarm.

The smoke ascends, a ghostly plume,

Reaching the Church where prayers bloom.

Evening bells toll, their echoes sweet,

A melody weaving through Kenilworth Street.

By the window, I linger, lost in thought,

Rearranging dreams that time forgot.

For here in the stillness, I wait, my dear,

Your shadow, your voice, forever near.

The maple whispers, the Church keeps time,

The street bears witness to life’s rhyme.

And as the moon casts its silvery glow,

I pen these lines where memories flow.

🍂