Dead People

It was probably the moustache
That attracted the fly
This was probably the last time
He would be buzzed
And the first time
That he would not know.

There was a lot of white
The drapes, the sarees, the cotton
With which his toes and the thumbs
Were tied.

When you are dead
I guess these things don't matter
The color, the flies and the incense
That invades the nostrils
Until you feel heady
With his death.

When you are dead
I guess you are
Probably just dead
And it's different
From just not being alive.

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