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.

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