The kettle whistled just before the rain,
And someone yelled, “Shut that window tight!”
The dog curled up and sighed into the night.

The old wall clock still ticked two minutes slow,
And no one really cared to fix it right,
It chimed like it had nothing left to fight.

That cupboard held more stories than it should—
Cracked photo frames and letters never sent,
A birthday card with someone’s finger bent.

The kitchen held the loudest kind of love,
Not perfect love, but loud and burnt and real,
Where silence meant you knew just how they feel.

You leave, but bits of you are always there—
In folded sheets and drawers that smell like soap,
A place that breathes in grief and sings in hope.

Digant Saha
Class- 12
School- Birla High School