There she sits in her third floor balcony
watching us naughty kids play noisily.
The daily chores paused with a cup of tea,
one hand rests on the railing quietly.
Then she sees the vegetable vendor,
she gets up and calls out in her soft voice.
She ropes down a basket to our wonder-
fills up, pulls up, amidst the nuisance noise.
Her house is always open to us all,
and here is where we find our second home.
Love embeds in the layers of her wall,
but travels with us wherever we roam.
I remember uncle and his sweet smile
that now reflects on aunty all the while.
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