Ego's perspective

Houses of the blind Made of glasses and the light No questions asked  And nor do they care      The people are happy always so chatty Their smile never reach their eye the clothes they wear a well-fitting lie the love they share the roll of a die   I left that sight, for my poetic plight. a departure filled in delight   Now I wander, a failed commander Eating stale dreams for dinner      

 “I know he has one. I’ve seen him write on it when I was a kid,” a voice cried out from one of the rooms upstairs in that nalukettu. The house was searching itself one could say, as if a man was searching for answers within himself.  Sun trekked through the sky and reached its peak, everyone in the house heeded the call of hunger. Except for one young man. “"Why is he so adamant about finding that old thing, assuming it even exists?” an elderly man spoke sitting down. “He wants to show it off when he joins the party tomorrow. What else can create a bigger wave than donating the personal diary of a freedom fighter and the best friend of a great martyr?” a motherly voice spoke, coming out of the kitchen with trays and dishes of scented food in hand. The little girl at the table took a bite out of the pappadom and smiled cutely to avoid punishment. When she felt her mother's eyes on her face she asked her father to explain why grandpa was such a big name in the village.  Ch...