Posted on 08/18/2013

Photo taken on October  7, 2007

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Dilip Chitre
East Lansing

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Photo replaced on August 18, 2013
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House of my childhood

House of my childhood
The house of my childhood stood empty
On a gray 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.

"The House of my Childhood" - Dilip Chitre