Death (III)

He breathed his last
And the earth release an occupant
His death has caused mixed feeling
Amid joy and sorrow

A minute silence is sent into the air
And the atmosphere summons grieve
Condolence are accepted like wishes of fortunes
As his rites were planed to be done

Deep below the earth his remain his kept
A food for the worms it turns
But the soul, the real man himself
Far before the rite was lost to them

During the rites were flow of tears
But why cry for the dead
When our best is no more of help for their soul
But to hope for better eternity, the reward of their life.

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Can we render help to the deads?