The House that I Built
A reflection on impermanence
“Every stay in any place betrays the quiet ubiquitousness of the dead” — Olga Tokarczuk (Flights)
I have built a house
that has seen no deaths.
No past ghosts
to haunt the living
with the inexorable memory
of their past existence.
An unrelenting presence
that rises from the floor
in every step that
has been walked on before,
and every wall that has
been touched
or tainted.
Not my house. My house has
the fragrance of childhood
frolicking through time
uninformed by the impending
death and
the inescapable sorrow
it carries within.
Still one day, I too
shall become that ghost
casting an icy pall
over future remembrance
of others
meandering through
the living rooms
lost.
Memories are such dead weights
that can hold back the living
as much as they hold back
the dead
in houses and shelters
that were created by people
imprisoned
in their domestication.
I have built an epitaph —
were we not supposed to be
really
wild animals roaming free
in jungles and grasslands
of our endless and
remorseless lives?
© Unni Nambiar (September 6th 2020)
