DILAPIDATED HOUSE
Standing vulnerability in
the aftermath of the gruesome civil war , is the rubble which
I once called home. The dust from the devastation sharply poked my lungs,
at the same time triggering nostalgia.
The ceiling had all disappeared,
the metal framework protruding out of
the grey cement which was once a wall. The designed tiles cracked like an
asymmetric cobweb, and tangled electrical wires drooping from the walls easily
able to cause a short circuit. Who would even say that this property once
belonged in the most luxurious part of the city?
Bullet holes carried deep
onto the wall , it being unimaginably
circular in shape. The edges of the walls were hit so severely that they had
rounded up, exposing what lies below the cream – colored plaster. Broken chairs,
tables and beds infiltrated the already congested floor. Lichens and mosses had
found a warm, conducive shelter on the bottom indented corners, whose dirty
green shades deterred anyone from going close to it.
As I walked through the unforgotten corridor ,
the sole of my foot crunched numerous
tiny fragments of glass which
flew out of the cracked window panes , overlooking several similar
properties. Tree branches grew into the house through these windows, blocking the
pathway in the middle.
Surprisingly , some
framed pictures yet hung firmly on the crumbled walls of the dark alley , the
only one yet protected by the half –
hanging ceiling. Traversing through the broken bricks and walls, the pictures
were something that finally brought little relief to this heart, damaged just
like the deserted structure.
Done by Ambar C
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