Only One Remnant – a poem


The time is approaching, when I have to let go. Don’t get me wrong – I am very excited, but, I sometimes see it from the point of view of my parents. If I do leave home for college, there would be an emptiness in their lives. It will be a huge turning point, too. As for me, it would be my very first turning point, and that is what excites me. 
This poem is about a girl who came back home, after her prolonged turning point, after one turning point led to another. Imagination never stops anywhere. 

Mind you, I wrote this a couple of years back, so, it might be alkaline. I would post one of my more solemn and matured poems someday. But this poem, I love. And I always will. 



I journeyed back in town, uncalled

There lived no one to call me home

The suitcase was carried alone

The dusty wind was dust-filled more


There lived no one to wave at me

Past the picket fences white

Foreign eyes, shallow smiles

No one knows the other’s name


My house was coloured liquor gold

What once used to be snow white

Charred with dots of muddy tracks

The door was pierced; through that, they looked


They vaguely recognized my face

Their late mother had talked to me

Years ago, when trees would sway

In the neighbourhood I lived


The air was heavy with a smell

No more did Ma’s perfume fly

No more did Pop’s lenses stay

Upon the shelves that were all gone


No sign of anything I owned

Just things more foreign that the town

I felt awkward in my house

A house I slept in years before


My room was widened to make space

For the kids that looked so strange

When they played ball in my backyard,

Where plants grew, killing my old plants,


I turned my misty eye away,

Grazed my finger down the paint

Rust was gone, railings refined

What I had was a smoky dream


I saw a little toy that lay,

Unkempt and uncared for much

On the mantelpiece, where once

Pictures of my graduation lined


The little toy was mine, all mine

That little dusty rabbit, mine!

Its fur was soft the way I knew

It told a long-forgotten story –


I remembered every line,

Just one prompt from my rabbit

People may call it a souvenir

But it was the only living piece


Of that era when I played

And worried least of calamities,

That era when I woke to dream

It was gone, but came again


Like a breath of springtime breeze

Thawing all the snow that poured,

I was left weeping, in my beam

I clutched the rabbit in my arm


I smiled goodbye to the strangers

Who erased my youth’s memories

I held my breath so that the smell

Could not dissect the joy I found


The sky at least was navy then,

Though I remember bluer skies,

Cleaner roads and lesser houses

There was but nothing I could do


I left my house that was not mine

I left the town I did not know

The town was foreign, but I was

A foreigner in my hometown 



4 Comments Add yours

  1. This is beautiful.. Your thoughts couldn’t get any clearer. It’s gives out vibes of such strong feelings, which are hard to deny! xx 🙂


    1. thehuewoman says:

      Why, thank you so much! 🙂


  2. Stuti Pachisia says:

    Madhura! Your poetry has me spell-bound! Your imagery, your use of words- so exact; precise- NEVER verbose! And the emotional content in all that simplicity! You NEVER fail to astound, do you? 😀

    ALWAYS a fan. 😀


    1. thehuewoman says:

      You don’t HAVE to say that. A simple “I love it!” would suffice. Haha, you always have the most wonderful things to say. Thank you so much. 🙂 It means a whole lot.


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