Setting foot inside
a moving time capsule which is
full of white, off white, beige carpets
and ancient rules, standards and routines,
is strange.
Rooms have changed
their layouts, fung shei, cleaning habits
and the ancient battles about turning lights off
seem to have dimished,
finally!
Though time has shattered the old
identities, it is hard not to fall back into old routines,
comfortable (and uncomfortable) like
worn slippers that don’t have any more
traction.
The house is surrounded by a perimeter
of minute-sized ants, who militantly and
prosperously devour all specks of food
accidentally laid out by unknowing guests.
Gross!
The heads of household seep into their
own neuroses, separate and combined
like soft-serve ice-cream melting in front of
a hydrogened Sun, politely ignoring
each other.
The activity of all life stems from
the kitchen which combines foods from ancient
days with comforts of modern times,
filling the bellies of the young as easily
as ever.
Guests, familial and not, arrive with
nostalgic fumes escaping their lungs,
attacked by these inn-keepers with love,
forceful respect, and wonderous energy.
Time stops.
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