Whispers of a Building

Image Credits: S O C I A L . C U T on Unsplash

Five flats in a building Existing on borrowed soil.  In the depths of its foundation   Lie secrets, or perhaps just stone— Cemented memories, The graves of forgotten lives.

Five flats in a building,   Standing on borrowed soil. The ground floor, never truly owned, Rented out to dozens,   Footfalls fading in and out,   Echoes of lives far from home.

Wealth resides on the first floor,  Two flats merged into one. Truth gagged behind slamming doors, A mockery of harmony. Separation posing a blissful union, Laughter cloaking relevance-starved desire. Sweetened voices, venom-tipped, Kindness that cuts.

Higher up, on the second floor, Two final flats remain. In one: stillness and spiders, Whispers curling through empty halls. Loneliness entertains the dust, Footsteps imagined, never left. Screens flicker silver behind shut panes, Ghostlight staring out.

In the last flat, siblings Tangled thoughts, unrevealed grief, Alone together, Surrounded by concerned façades— Neighbours, relatives. The brother, seemingly open, half-lit The sister— unforgiving. 

Five flats in a building, Raised on borrowed soil. My only visitors: squirrels, monkeys, birds Seeking refuge beneath my scorching sheets. I am a ferry between branches, Not much of a roof. You can't look up at the sky, Nor down at the world below.

Within my walls, Secrets settle like sediment. Lives crumble slowly, Toward obscurity.