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This Old House
This old house is
breaking down
my grandpa calls from
the living room.
I stand in the
memories of my childhood:
The plastic plates,
the haunting aroma of pikake
The faded blue carpet
crawls,
squeezing itself
between my toes.
Sprawled and
entangled,
the wires from the
game console lay,
A gnarled beauty from
our modern world.
Hidden beneath, the
old battered and discolored toys,
each a testament to
my youth,
holding within them
memories and moments long passed.
Outside the lawn is
covered with dirt.
Weeds sprout from the
emptiness,
within it a tall
proud mango tree stands.
His strong trunk is
wrinkled by age.
This old house is
slowly being eaten alive
by millions of tiny
termites:
They never stop,
never sleep, and will never disappear.
One day soon this old
house will be lost,
gone in the cracks of
time,
but until then, we
must stand strong like this old house.
Isn’t that what you
told me so long ago grandpa?
by Tamir Abdel-Wahab
12th grade, Mid-Pacific
Institute
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