Walking and drifting amidst the wailing  moans,

I see a mother on a grave of unknown.

She sat there for hours and hours,

Talking to herself in a sense of wonders.

She grieved and smiled numerous times,

She dined along with man confined.

She didn’t care for the world of rules,

She was a mother of a used tool.

She had a mask donned over to stash,

For the wails that were unheard in this world of trash.

Walking and drifting amidst the wailing resonated,

I see a father with a photograph, perforated.

He walked on the field with a smile of pride,

He had a few scars which he didn’t hide.

The biggest scar hidden beneath the ribs,

He lost his son to lust and greed.

He had a mask donned over to stash,

For the wails that were unheard in this world of trash.

Walking and trotting in the garden of forgotten,

I see a brother with a eating an apple, rotten.

He too did smile with every bite,

He was offered a fresh one but he denied.

The fruit was the last of his father’s tree,

For which he would have sold his fortune without a plea.

He needed a slap of reality to come out of this illusion,

He needed an addiction to snap out this delusion.

He had a mask donned over to stash,

For the wails that were unheard in this world of trash.

Walking and sauntering before the home of fails,

Where there lies an invalid sister’s tale.

She has been happy with one man only,

Her brother, who made her life homely.

Many men refused to marry an invalid human,

When the question was to marry this woman.

They refused to marry but agreed to sell,

Themselves, for few silver, under the ringing bell.

The brother has been dead for a few decade now,

And her heart still craves to be endowed.

She too needed a mask donned over to stash,

For the wails that were unheard in this world of trash.

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