mac arthur

it's not that i want to turn this blog into a lit.org extension. but here's another one. and the title is just because i can't come up with a better one. i have just read bob ong's mac arthur so it kinda stuck. no, the poem has nothing to do with it.

the room is empty
dust has settled in surfaces
once polished by your touch
all is still
all is silent
suffocating

days has gone unnoticed
even time has stopped
cobwebs on the tall grandfather's face
since you've gone
everything is suspended
like a breath held

the wind whistles through your absence
like a painful cry of longing
a wail of sadness rattling your window
the only sound we have
in this interminable wait

but i know, one day
that door will open
light would filter in once more
outlining your shadow in the doorway
the music of your voice
would vibrate on these walls
like thunder promising rain
in this long drought

one day, life shall shine again
on these haunted spaces
one day, you shall return