It was a Sunday, and one lazy morning.

He had slipped out of bed a little early.

It was cold outside and the bed was warm.

I clung to my side of it with the blanket over me.

It was a gift from him, a soft touch of blue and trimmed with maroon.

Wrapped in a gift wrapper it read

"Happy Birthday, Darling".

And the date under his handwriting was six years back.

It had worn out its new look but had the same warmth.

It was my blanket; it was my bedroom, my home.

Home sweet home and I was proud of it.

When I came here fifteen years back,

The walls were bright yellow.

I had them painted with light peach.

I ploughed the front yard, had herbs and bushes planted.

I put pictures around, kept flowers in the vases and pots.

It was my territory, my home.

Home sweet home and I was proud of it.

He admired every change I made, and never

Complained of any inconvenience.

He loved my adolescence as he loved me.

He took me out for a drive, and often to shop.

I clang to him on a sail through the river,

And hugged him tight on a cold night.

We enjoyed candle lights and movies.

He loved my company as he loved me.

Fifteen long years have passed, we have matured.

We have few grey hairs, but we are not bothered.

Now I spend my day in the garden and the kitchen.

Now we dine at home mostly, fish, vegetables and potatoes.

He still eats peacefully, and never fusses over food.

Now he works till late, and I often sleep of on a chair.

Now I let him alone with his books.

We live quietly under the roof –

And he still loves me and I love him.

It was a Sunday, and one lazy morning.

He had slipped out of bed a little early.

He made tea and passed me a shawl.

We took two cups out in the garden.

We stepped on the smooth grass, sipped in the hot tea and
held hands while we walked.

We admired the lilies and the sunflowers.

We felt that the house needed paint,

And the long grass under the bush needed a trim.

It was our home and it was beautiful.

Home sweet home and we were proud of it.

And we held hands while we walked.

Two soft silhouettes, ripe of fifteen years.