It will be slow, the river
The ripples will not show.
Yesterday they showed another river in the holy city
Dragging along dead bodies and withered garlands.
There was foam too; white froth of factory waste.
It seemed like me,
The everyday carcass I carry inside, rotting slowly;
People will not know till death shows in my teeth
Yellowed, too dead to rot.
They will wonder how soon death came to a few strands of gray
Two sagging breasts,
A gnarled feet, two fingers numb in the left
The tired eyes too dim to see;
Death is only a reminder that life was not lived.
