Voice of echoes from the drain

He drowned in a miasma of despair

It’s all effluvium around, but furnished to settle as lavender water,

As the scent of freshly cut hay,

To which I held my nostrils tight together

Even hold my breath at the spot,

Where he drowned in a miasma of despair

Hearts and minds washed along with dirt

None to praise his expertise and excellence,

Counted ten five days after a month

Which increased to thousands due to suffocation,

Asphyxiation quoted the doctors easily,

Death’ any less than sacrifices of our armed forces

Again drowned in a miasma of despair,

Those legs struggled in stagnation,

Torso with humiliation

Right to life with dignity, showing the sunbright smile

He be the swan of our polluted drain.

Aagh,this smell! we expressed with hesitation

Throwing away the literal isolation, smile he wore as red as any rose in June

Expecting, he drowned in a miasma of despair 

To be a whiff of her lemony perfume

Those expressionless Black eyes

Wished that to be paradise of white Mangolia,

To be fragrant sweet pea, but all he smelled was stinking corpse lily

Neighbor introduced bandicoot, to bring blossom to his life

Already lost was he in the intense darkness

To bloom as lotus in our pool of drain.

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