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Something hit,

Maybe a rock.

Blood oozed like gushing water.

The wound was stubborn ,as was the scar,

It did not leave.

But it wasn’t just a rock,

It was familiar,

A piece from the brick of the wall,

I once called home!

And whenever it rained ,

It smelt like home.

That home which I kept searching for,

In some eyes ,

In some hearts,

In some smells,

In some arms,

To finally find it in a piece of rock .

And then it hit me like a rock,

Home is to be found nowhere!

And I am still searching ,

In pieces of some rock from some brick of some wall.

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