Baskadia

In a chamber where time weaves its silent tale, Ephemeral echoes linger, a symphony frail.

Abandoned chairs, with tales untold,

A piano's melody in whispers unfold.

Decay dances with a painter's grace,

On walls that cradle a once-vibrant space.

Through windows veiled by the passage of years, Nature's reclaim paints subtle tears.

A mirror reflects the ghosts of delight,

Lost in the remnants of a forsaken night.

Yet, amidst the decay, beauty unfurls,

In the dance of abandonment, a canvas swirls.

The floor, a stage for memories to tread, each creak, a verse of the life it once led.

Indoor whispers echo, a soulful plea,

To rescue the essence of what used to be.

As you gaze upon this timeless scene,

Feel the heartbeats of dreams that have been.

Own a piece of this transient art,

Where the past and present share a delicate heart.