I sometimes ask myself,
Is there an age one gets used to death?
When its news brings no shock?
When its tale brings no tears?
We sometimes hear it and move on
As thus the lost souls are statistics?
A number, soon to be forgotten,
The earth does not even pay any respect,
And nature does not still itself in regard,
For the souls of the departed
I ask again,
Is there an age one gets used to death?
For though the pain comes to heart
But the rivers of the eyes seem not to flow
Though memories fill the mind,
To cry seems as thus its a heavy task…
(c) Chukwudi I.
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