I wonder about this post,
Only to exclaim out loud.
Why bother to believe,
The ending of life in silence.
Edifice and tombs of cement,
All cluttered in peace.
The soul might stir within,
Yet it cannot voice its heart.
The crow stoops and flies,
Not for once taking a break.
Why bother about a soul,
Who tastes better than meat.
The brethren dispose off fast,
Faking tears in the harsh sun.
A man's work dissolved in soil,
Inflicting pain more in solitude.
Only memories thus remain,
A memoir of a chair and a table.
Upon which the writer wrote,
Not for himself but for others.
Seasons of agony and happiness,
Now do not change in the wild.
In faith lies the soul of the doer,
Seeking appreciation,ever so mild.

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