Crematorium

He works in a place,
going there no one craves.
But they arrive one day,
Without much fan fare.
He works in a place,
crematorium is its name.
He saw tears in eyes,
false or true can’t classify.
To ashes as the dead are burnt,
everyone goes back home.
Some sit there and sob,
as if dead may return if they sob.
He isn’t averse to pain,
he has lost all he knew.
Know he sits there,
and waits patiently.
As the ashes slowly cool,
place gets deserted look.
He has to do his job,
to give the place a mop.
And wait for the next corpse,
and a follow up sob.
Again he will do his job,
to give the place a mop.
He works in this place,
crematorium is its name.

My Comment:
This poem is a narration of
point of view of a sweeper working in a crematorium.