I now have new colors on my walls
that wore the same shade for two-decades-long
adorned with the sketch drawn by my brother
of a tiny cat with crayons
when he was five
the lines we marked together
to measure our increasing height
the poster of my first celebrity crush
cupboards covered with stickers
collected with bubble gums
the stains of hair dye mom spilled near the mirror
while covering her grey
the chair on which dad sat reading the newspaper every day
the dining hall where we ended our Ramadan fasts
that room where my grandma breathed her last —
those memories are shielded
under the layers of a fresh shine
gradually tinting to the new hues of time.
© Nazneen Kachwala
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