An Autopsy
A
Anil Kumar Panda
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His body is laid on the table
Slowly and with care
As if he is alive
The white shroud is
Pulled away revealing
The half rotten carcass
Eyes are open staring at the roof
As if looking for its soul
And the doctor arrived
Wearing a worried face
And clean apron
It is matter of a few minutes
Outside they wait
Money in hands and pockets
To carry away the dead
To a lonely place for the crows
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