Gita Janaki writes

THE HOUSE

When I leave the house,

close the door and lock it,
I hear it yawn.
Nothing more to do,
it winks at me.
I smile back.

Although it has 
a number of rooms 
for company,
the house considers
me her soulmate.

She keeps me company
by constant chatter
asking me to remove the paintings
hanging on the wall
as they discolour her skin tone.
At times, pleads not to smoke inside
and cautions me of the dangers of smoking.

The house considers the floor her feet
and twitches in displeasure
when it is dirty
and giggles with pleasure
when I give it a scrub.

When I am back in the evening,
although there's no one else inside,
she wants me to press the calling bell
and when I do so
I hear the house
rising from under the blankets,
stretching and running to the door.
When I enter,
she catches me in a warm hug.