Last two months passed,
I have been living here alone.
Girls are many but,
Merely interest shown.
From morning till the end,
All in a routine.
Packed with four walls,
And two windows for air to come in.
Though the same bedsheets,
Not the same bed of mine.
It makes so much difference,
That sleeping for hours doesn’t makes me shine.
Alarm clock to wake me up,
I miss my dad’s call.
Hot breakfast indeed I get here but,
Can’t be compared with my mum’s taste at all.
Friends here to flock around,
Still the echos our three sister’s sound.
It’s forming a family as whole,
But nothing seems like I am at “HOME”
Jyoti Vishwakarma’s 