The time of the bi-annual pilgrimage again
Scores of men descend and break their abstain
On this day of merriment and feasting
To the dead they extend a greeting
Stood beside the grave, saying a prayer
An age old ritual, a solemn affair
This is a sacred space
A quiet place
But ringing through new Armani pockets
Searing the silence like old exploding rockets
And creating no less a racket
Phone calls from Mr so and so
Faced with green and red
The swipe between right and left
The choice is a choice
Answer, reject or avoid
Catch up on the latest gossip
Or account their latest profit
Conversations sound above the graves
In little self contained enclaves
Though the dead we have laid to rest
Their peace we also have wrest
Across this earth once sacred
Respect is stripped bare naked
Into this once sacred space
Has bled the human rat race