My House

The army of things, like a horde of locusts has occupied up to the smallest corners almost all the space of my big house, which I just bought.

Memories of my past, like shy children lie wordlessly on the angles of the sofas and armchairs.

Greed, like a hussy, wanders around the rooms, grinning, showing off, shouting and cursing.

New house, big, all complete with everything, Yet I don’t feel comfortable at all.

I want to leave this bogey prison-house, which I just bought, and go to my small hut, to that tiny, yet huge house, immense as my childhood’s unlimited imagination.