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Layered in the bottom of my heart is my home
I hear my grandfather's early morning prayers
The sound of his hymns drawing me out of slumber.
I see my grandmother running by the hearth,
Her stiff ankle refusing to take rest during busy hours
I see my father riding a motorbike to school
My mother's cotton saree flutters in the pavilion seat
I can see a protruding attendance register from her tote bag.
They promise me candies as they see me weep.
I see my aunt feeding my toddler cousin,
My uncle ever so busy with machines.
And in midst of this frantic busy life, I see me.
As I paint a tree green, I see a gap toothed smile escape
Grandma pulls me out of the ground and weaves my hair into plaits
She smears kohl in my eyes as she retires to bed
I smell the odd concoction of boroline and iodex
And as I sip my mug of milk, she lulls me to sleep.
I dream what I can't remember
And in a second, I see my home tumble.
It's room robbed of memories
I still have my home but it's soul is empty
Where do I find it's lost pieces, I ask thee?

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