The House Of My Childhood Poem by Dilip Chitre

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
In a place where nobody can sing
Words distribute their silence
Among intricately clustered glyphs

My grandmother's voice shivers on a bare branch
I toddle around the empty house
Spring and summer are both gone
Leaving an elderly infant
To explore the rooms of age

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Sylvia Frances Chan 15 August 2021

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

0 0 Reply
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.

2 0 Reply
Christy 22 September 2019

Can you provide line by line explanation of the poem

1 0 Reply
ancy varghese 09 July 2018

pls exp 2nd para...more detailing required

2 0 Reply
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Dilip Chitre

Dilip Chitre

Gujarat / India
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