Secured by the tight grip of the red bricks,
Which lays over a deep foundation of a stone strong stability,
Hiding its raw self from colour obsessed breathing beings,
Using the society of paint as a breath-taking concealer.
Secured, I lay on my king-size bed,
Which too is ashamed and is draped by a long silent cloth.
Laying there, I wonder, What do they hide?
Just like that closed door, offering a screen-like escape,
From either an indoor drab reality,
Or from an outdoor overwhelming one.
Now my thoughts got buried by this unusual door dialogue.
Already wet from the salty sweat,
My vibrating fingers turned the knob in slow-mo.
No one. Squeak! I looked below. A tiny mouse. It left.
I exhaled a hyped breath of mystery,
And saw a sequence of shut doors being banged by
A large nest of mice, and not a single knob turning.
IG - @random_writings45