(In memory of my sister)
Everything is still the same
as you left
just with minor changes.
Like this chocolate brown wooden door
that you used to ask me to shut
when engrossed in watching TV.
It had stopped getting shut, lost its shine,
it's now all repaired and polished.
Like this bed you used to sleep on and the one
on which we spent countless hours
whispering and giggling at night.
This bed is now heavy
with the weight
of your absence.
Its mattress had stopped providing support
for my orphaned back.
The bed is still the same but the old mattress
has now been replaced with the new firmer one.
Like this little red-colored bed side
alarm clock that had stopped ticking
when you left, refusing to make
the familiar tick-tock sound.
It's now all repaired, it ticks
ever so slowly.