Songs Of The Dead Read Count : 17
Category : Poems
Sub Category : N/A
My father threw away the towel
he said that it's enough.
he couldn't hold the pain and the misery
that tortures him everyday.
so he decided to kick the bucket
his final bed calling him to sleep
and so he did , went to sleep to his bed
a bed made of brown blocks.
his body that young
like a moon at night
and now my father
wears the heavy soil in his chest
covers himself with a soft blanket
© Asenathi Makhanya