You remind me of some unmarked graves
I happened to see somewhere in the burial place,
where no one lights the candles; no one prays.
Algae, weeds, wild grasses and fallen leaves 
maketh a shroud for ages.
No one plugs the agape ratholes beneath the Headstone.
Termites and ants make their colony,
Spiders, mites, ticks, and scorpions 
breed and multiply merrily.

Maybe you wanted to be indifferent
to the tall talks, fake emotions, 
cries and cacophonies of the world; 
the random false care and consolations, 
One sleeps in the backyard of the church, grand
yet away from God and distant to all around.

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