The saints smouldered the cutleries and the bulbs of onions in a vessel filled with holy water chanting the hymns on the departure of peace and tranquility from this world they added decayed ashes of humanity and herbs called patriarchy
In the summer mornings vultures and scorpions frenzied and vanished in the hiccups of widows who used to sway in the fields of corn and rice ' letting themselves free and flee in the winnowing winds they mourned the death of their spouses
Silenced the seas and pleading voices they burned the candlewood trees the only source of light in the chasm of obituaries and funerals Ignoramus the humans are they think of changing this world when world need them to change
My four hundred million secrets are fasten in those attics which are concealed in that pinch of vermillion humans wreath my hairline with Yes, I'm the fifty year old woman and you all live in my womb I'm Mother Earth .
*By the time you're 50, you have taken around 400 million breaths.