When She Arrives
A house is born of bricks and stone,
Of measured walls and polished floor;
It keeps the rain, withstands the storm,
Yet still it longs for something more.
The windows wait with silent eyes,
The empty rooms forget to sing;
A roof may shelter flesh andbone,
But cannot make a heart take wing.
Then comes a woman, soft as dawn,
With laughter folded in her hands;
She teaches corners how to smile,
And every silent doorway stands.
She leaves her fragrance in the air,
Her kindness in a cup of tea;
She fills the shelves with little dreams,
And sets forgotten spirits free.
A wife who waits beside the light,
A mother humming evening prayers,
A daughter scattering joyful noise—
Love quietly blooms wherever she cares.
She remembers birthdays no one writes,
She waters hope like tender vines;
She mends the days that come undone,
And stitches peace between the lines.
The walls begin to breathe at last,
The echoes learn each cherished name;
The kitchen glows with simple warmth,
The hearth becomes a sacred flame.
For home is never built by hands
That only stack the brick and beam;
It rises where affection lives,
And grows from every selfless dream.
So call it not a house alone,
Though grand its pillars proudly stand;
A building becomes a home the day
A woman’s heart walks through its land.
Bhairab Barman is an assistant professor, researcher, and poet at Central University of Andhra Pradesh, India.
