Rituals Are Mine!

I died a death of opprobrium.
That was when,
I was a small kid!

I saw images
Images crop from the crops of worry
Images snap from the span of worry
And I cherished them
Like a harboured ship in the wrecks!

Then this death
Death of countless names
Names of alliterated identities
Thus this obloquy of disgrace!

I died a death of opprobrium
That was when,
I was a small kid!

And came the funeral
Still following a million rituals.
Then,
I silently ask:
“Why rituals for death bodies?”
Again,
I shout:
“Rituals are mine
For they know
‘I am alone’!”