A graveyard,
on a summer night;
A headstone,
in the moonlight; Sits.
Broken,
decrepit,
mouldy,
and withered;
With a forgotten,
old,
rotting,
corpse, inside.
Buried,
decaying,
lonely,
and lost;
The ghost
of a child,
watches
yonder self;
His past,
his present,
and future,
at rest;
He isn’t.
By: Viraj Belgaonkar
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