My Childhood Was Greeted...

by a thunderous cloud,

broken hands of dry dirt

unearthed the funeral pyre.

i, with ageless eyes, played

in the vast green backyard of stones.

Each next to an’other,

what a display of uniformity!

Everyone was dressed in opera,

a song was sunged aloud,

shards of rotten flesh

lay on the rusty barbed-wire.

March of the dead,

tombs of the undead,

harmony of death

melody for shortness of breath.

A gathering of some sort

which i couldn’t quite understand.

Mom, dad, grandpa’ and Abo,

but where’s my grandma and Aba?

Oh! There they are,

still,

cold,

in a dark woodened car.

“Let me play in it, let me share it with grandma”

i said in the high-pitched voice of mine.

Not even she responded to my plea

whilst drops of sadness

quenched the body-hungry earth.