A home rumbles in rubbles,
Covered in burnt blankets and now cold cuddles.
A stained faucet-
Like an old blood stain on old doors.
Cracked windows and empty water buckets;
White powder on the floors.
A cold silence of eerie despair
Walks through the room.
It asks,
"Why have these bricks turned to black?"
Because the school kids,
Can no longer hold their bags on their broken backs.
Home of Rubbles
A home rumbles in rubbles,
Covered in burnt blankets and now cold cuddles.
A stained faucet-
Like an old blood stain on old doors.
Cracked windows and empty water buckets;
White powder on the floors.
A cold silence of eerie despair
Walks through the room.
It asks,
"Why have these bricks turned to black?"
Because the school kids,
Can no longer hold their bags on their broken backs.
Covered in burnt blankets and now cold cuddles.
A stained faucet-
Like an old blood stain on old doors.
Cracked windows and empty water buckets;
White powder on the floors.
A cold silence of eerie despair
Walks through the room.
It asks,
"Why have these bricks turned to black?"
Because the school kids,
Can no longer hold their bags on their broken backs.
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