It's been two weeks since his mere mortal body left
The world behind to grieve for his belittled fame;
Every house full of strangers has a tear to shed,
While every mouth runs dry as they utter his name.
See how well such callous rituals for the dead
Shape the modern crown of hypocrisy! They weep
On the first day, mourn on the second, the third brings
Relative normalcy and then they're fast asleep.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Satyananda Sarangi
would be pleased to hear