The soreness in the throat
Itchingly remains.
The tears that didn't
Come out, they never
Go away.
The flowers you once
Preserved in the book,
Seems to have left stains.
Closure is an ancient
Myth. A redundant Deity
In the third street of
The village.
Your mind plays tricks like
An excavator often and
The worship that ought to
Stay buried comes out
In the open.
Demanding you to pray.