My favourite place in all, my grandmother’s place.

The smell of the kitchen and the smell of the couch,

Remind me of daisies just lying about.


The touch of the old iron gate,

Like the warm feel of an abandoned ship.

The chipping walls crackle when you touch them gingerly.


When my grandmother cooks sweetdishes,

The dishes are flavours from heaven.

The colours of the rainbow flash through your head.

Fireworks burst everywhere.

You could jump in glee,

Or sit still and laugh “heehee!”.


The space is of love and arguments,

On the bed,

One pair of hands holding a snake,

Two pairs of hands climbing the ladders.

I scream and shout in boredom,

My sister cries and finally wails.  

Super Granny has won the game!


When a sunrise strikes,

The world lightens up,

A flock of white pigeons swoop down on the terrace.

Grandma gently casts the grains,  

The baby pigeons feed themselves,

Moving closer for more.

The feel of the wings,

Smooth as rose petals,

Sprinkled with water.


Walls of happiness surround this place,

The softness of the light, dim and fragile.

The hand of a person reach out to say,

I love you dear one, please don’t go away.


When you leave this lovely space,

The halls will darken, with evil taking its place.

The happy enclosure that was once there before,

Has disappeared in smoke, for no one lives there anymore.

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