Entirely bereft
Of its identity,
My ancestral house,
Where I used to live,
Has crumbled to ruin

Although I do not
Live there anymore,
It stays with me still,
Along with my childhood

I used to fly high
Over the jungle made up
Of its mezzanine lofts

Its pillars hid me
On nights lit up by the moon
And also on those
Darkened by moonless skies

Even the wall of the latrine,
Witness to the terror
Of my first bleeding,
Has collapsed to the ground
With all its other secrets

Many were the times
We had sought shelter there:
I, on one side of the wall;
And this neem tree, on the other

With its walls lost to ruin,
The house stands alone,
Staring at the ground where once
It had cast its own shadow

Traces of my play hours
Might still remain
On the wall of an upstairs room