The Sleep Of The Dead
By Fiza Pathan
The sleep of the dead in the earth
so holy and rich in memories
reminds me of the one I loved many incarnations ago.
The tombstone marks his burial
and the grave is his bed of roses – there
I rest my head as if I lie on his cold chest
making me remember how to forget.
The graveyard is filled with dark mysteries
of the ones in coffins strewn with lilies.
I roam about the dead in the dark of night
making acquaintances with the maggots
that lie in the shadow of a skeletons socket.
The holy ground sweep away my pain
and brings healing to my heart
making me sing a lullaby to the deceased.
I read the carved inscriptions upon the tombstones – cold
as the night that is the canopy over my dark head.
There are no fears at night
when I am in the midst of the lifeless ones – they
sleep soundly as I watch over them.
The smell of consecrated mud is
is the aroma of the ones
that do not breathe anymore – no longer
will worldly ties hold them
they are free to see a happy afterlife.
I however shed my tears in silence
among the grave stones and the rodents.
I cry for peaceful slumber which the god of Hades
doesn’t provide for me in his world of corpses galore.
Yama the god of death does not come
to take away my soul – they bide their time
watching me crumble into ashes every day of my life.
The undertaker bids me to leave his territory
for he wants to keep the dead to himself –
mercy I cry out to him –
mercy is the fruit of death
which I would like to taste.
Copyright © 2014 by Fiza Pathan
Image courtesy: http://www.morguefile.com/archive/display/42095