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The House Of My Childhood

Rating: 4.5

The house of my childhood stood empty
On a grey hill
All its furniture gone
Except my grandmother's grindstone
And the brass figurines of her gods

After the death of all birds
Bird-cries still fill the mind
After the city's erasure
A blur still peoples the air

In the colourless crack that comes before morning
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Sylvia Frances Chan 15 August 2021

A scintillating poem, metaphored laden and layered 5 Stars full for this Masterpiece!

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ricchboi 29 November 2020

this guy seems to be really depressed. He should really clean his room and take up responsibility and see a doctor.

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Christy 22 September 2019

Can you provide line by line explanation of the poem

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ancy varghese 09 July 2018

pls exp 2nd para...more detailing required

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