From my grandmother's old house

The night sky looks like,

The reciprocal of nothingness,

Infinite.

Cassiopeia is an old friend

And often traces a tribal dance

Around the ancient moon

While my mind roams around places

Where my shadow resists to follow,

I find my fists carrying remains of my childhood in a loose grip

Here ,

the worries of my teenage

Cannot reach me

And the algorithm of my troubles ,

Fails to make sense

Here ,

The ghosts of my greatgrandma''s stories,

Dissolve me in her memories

And time seems to flow slower

Like melting clocks in the Dali painting.

When I'm here ,

My mind stitches together glimpses of past in no proper order

-January harvest feast

-Rocking chair lullabies

-an agar tree orchard

-a cicadas chorus

under the silver wood

-Worn out enamel

of heirloom crockery

There,

The cosmos smile

At how hourglasses seems to freeze

In my grandmother's old house

Time is just a concept.

.