Someone said it costs at least
Twenty thousand to say a
Proper goodbye after death.
The Oldman was worried
About the onus on his son.
He knew it all these days but
It hadn't hit him yet.
The forty-year daily laborer,
His son, of whom he's very
Protective of, he kept coming
To his mind.
'How can he manage that
Hefty amount in a village?'
It was a rampage in his head
While he walked back from
The graveyard.
He had to take into account
His wife too-- forty thousand now.
He tried to recall, whatever
He had saved, failing to reach
A definite figure.
The anxiety in head made
The legs walk fast if not run.
Forgetting to wash his feet before
Entering his home after a burial.
He opened his box that was
Kept in the dingy corner.
The rustle of notes failed to
Assure him, the amount of his
Estimation. Thirty thousand
More he said to himself and
The photo frame above him,
Of Lord Kuber, seemed to
Mock him with a beguiled smile.
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