Tales of the dead|| the poem

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A day it was
bangs and banters hit the street
chanting of market women
echoes like sea waves
death hits once again
A soul was laid to rest


She was a great woman, "they say"
whispering to each others ears
like it matters to the dead
that has been laid down to rot
Like fermented mushrooms


they gather around in twos and threes
strange faces with long expression
on their faces like a mask
in circle like termites
to pay their respect to the dead


A loud cry
Arouse from the crowd
a young lady in a black gown
she must be a relative, "I murmured"


She screams of the goodbyes, she couldn't say
of her absence, she now missed dearly
of kind gestures, she could have shared
All in the past now
the dead has no memory of the present

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