The world was silent when we died
Pains that births greater pain
Agonies that rips soul outta their bodies
The brouhaha that comes with life
Nobody to shield us from the hullabaloo
In our deaths, we will rise again
Tucked away in our graves
Is a speck and ray of hope
From which we would rekindle the fire
For if it's all a practice
Then all is well
And if all is well
The practice can be lived.
By chinenye chukwujekwe(guest writer)
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