Link

In festive mood, the noise of crackers rain;
No more tears, with globalization, no feign.
The burnt money and cars cash convert into ashes;
Bullions, commodity, imaginary trade, in e-ages.
Beings in earthen mound with new toys to bless;
Filial piety pays for a piece of freehold to confess.
With limited land, my image in time will be leasehold;
Mourners’ ancestors churn their papers into ethereal gold.
The tradition in the cemetery is a picnic party;
Rituals, plea and bended knees are no longer free.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s