In a quiet little corner of the house lied a deserted room. Its door stood there like a selfish giant guarding the residents. Inside there were hidden treasures – a worn out bed, an old cracking easy chair by the window, a mantle piece adorned with idols and a rugged bookshelf.
The resident whispered of their lives. All of them were alive.
While the bookshelf spoke of classics and legends, the easy chair creaked of tired bones and exhausted skin. Blessing them from above was the mantle piece with its set of divine couplets.
In their midst stood the worn out solitary bed. He sighed like a forlorn lover. His mistresses have left him one by one. They all made their bed here – a widowed lady and a solitary child, a grandmother and her grand-daughter.
Both lived on the same place. They made their bed here only to leave it for someone else. While the grandmother left it for her grand-daughter, the grand-daughter left it to seek her.
Together they completed him. Together they made him alive. Together they served the purpose of the bed – of being a resting place.
2 decades later, he waits to be dismantled. He waits to re-unite with his mistresses – waiting to be felt alive once again.
Today he has found his resting place. Today he has made his bed.
Just like his mistresses.