Room No.13

A dirty yellow door

Age old lock

Ancient design

That's Room No.13

Push the door

It opens noisily

The room is empty.

A sofa-torn with years

Silently waits for the invisible ghost.

A telephone aside

Half a century old

Dust settled comfortably

It's getting a bit cold.

Nobody calls anymore

Nobody picks up the phone

It just sits- a solitary ally

Reminiscing of the Age of Gold.

The table-where the phone sits

Seems burdened.

Weight of phone, weight of years

And all the weight it had to bear

Of blood, violence, horror and fear

In this very room.

A little daylight streams forth

From the lonely window at the top.

The rays hit the cobwebs

And get lost in the darkness inside.

The ghost of a room sits

Loneliness-its companion

And darkness lights it up

In the brightness of the New Moon.