Every time our family comes
together,  he who gathers us drops
from our roll -- he can't  sit and chat
with us anymore. From the weight of nights
without sleep, his eyes are saved; from
the toll of vigil and funeral, his shoulders
are freed. Once again, we are united
by absence; and just like when our other kindred  
died, our wallets wail, our guts grieve. Do we need
to mention?  Everyone of us is mired in the abyss
of debt; especially that we now atone for what
we failed to give to the one we  lament. His casket
must bear our pride;  as seamless as our  keening,
biscuits, coffee, and cigarettes should stream;
on funeral's eve, the karaoke must croon from dusk
to dawn. Do we need to mention?  We mourn not
because we've lost a kin.  Death is trite. What rouses
our tears is the loss  we shall  live with back home
when we part. Luckily, it's not a disgrace to cry
in public -- our brother dear is resting in peace.  
But deep is the wound his death has left  
in our pockets. So let us all sorrow, let us sob,  let us  
weep;  well,  who can feel the real fount of
our grief?  We are mourning for our beloved dead.