The Funeral - REDENDRON The Art of Art - Kate Sarah

The Funeral

The first funeral
I received,
Was an unexpected one.
I didn’t cry enough
I think.
I should’ve, I know.
She was sixty, white and plump,
Died of diabetes.
Perhaps that’s the reason
I do not like flowers so much.
No roses please,
No Bougainville.

The second one
I cried too much,
I was eighteen
And she was almost sixty.
She would’ve been
If only, she’d been
Sober for years forty.
She drank down her meloncholy,
And her meloncholy
Drowned her, consuming;
I cried not because
I didn’t confess my love
But I cried
For she left someone to suffer
Her absence.
A cruel revenge of my grandmother.

My grandfather “Spirited”
Holds her legacy
In his breath.

The third
Oh the third one
Still haunts me the most.
They were two bodies
In rows,
I couldn’t look.
One was lanky, boyish man of
Twenty nine,
Another was fifteen, a single child.
The earth shook and took
Away souls two.
I remember that night,
We sat there
at the dinner table
Laughing with merriment,
Phone rings with a news.
We receive it
“No more” the voice says
“No more” two youths.

The air was thick with sadness,
It was all air around,
The space lacked some oxygen,
Which was nowhere to be found.
We gasped for breath.
Our lungs shredded
At the news unfortunate.
I remember that night,
Tears leaked from eyes,
He was here with us, alive
Just a month before
And then in one
Calamity of nature,
He became a lore.

Such was my third funeral.

The fourth one,
I sometimes mourn in sleep,
My dreams are trying to
Adjust with this vacant reality,
Though the human is alive,
I don’t know why
But I feel
Someone had died.
He was a boy
Of eighteen
And I was juvenile, seventeen.
We promised moon and the stars,
The gods of the sky
And the entire galaxy.
Amidst all our iniquities,
We were favourites of each other.
When time played villain
It eroded us like soft rocks,
We crumbled, we were
Silicon and dust
We became strangers.

Now He lives a life
Far away,
Safe from my wrath,
I presume he smiles,
My smile all for
His wife
Oh our ways, our varied paths.

The last funeral
I was in
Was inside my head.
I live through it everyday
Before I go to bed.
I tell this devil,
I’ve won you over,
He sneers at me
And laughs.
Calls me his friend,
A close companion.
Yet speaks volumes of
Lies dark.

I die a thousand deaths here,
I rise like a phoenix
All inside my head.
Every week, the moon witnesses
As I die when I am awake.
His words
Jab me with precision
Where, where is my faith?
I am a living cadaver
I tell myself to breathe.

There are many lives to live
And many a funeral left to visit.

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