Two lengths afore three hands relieved apprehensive souls of their suffering and uncertainty. Two lengths afore three hands lifted a spirit to the heavens above, embracing the reciprocated love yearned therein.
The barren earth sips the Creator’s showers. The clouds unfold to shadow the torch. The leaves sashay, tickled by the dearly-missed breath. While a gaping wound welcomes a figurine devoid of soul, as of a keeper safeguarding Pandora’s treasure.
And so, a body laid sepulchered. For the blinkered, in the depths of the dust earth it doth belong. For the seeing, in the arms of the Lover, it laid encrypted.
I may have written this six years ago, but it resonates strong today. My grandmother passed on two nights ago. On the way to the house for the funeral yestermorn, the brother and I reminisced the happier times when we were younger. She was the gutsy granny we loved, who was strict when she was teaching us Qur’an recitation, loving with the hot cups of milo the morning after our slumber party, and engaging as a storyteller sharing tales from the times of the Japanese Occupation. To me, she was the one who never got tired of hearing my regurgitation of verses, who could understand Hindi and Mandarin films even when she couldn’t read the English subtitles, and the one who told me if I prayed hard enough, Hulk Hogan would win.
- Vivitar UWS, Kodak Tmax 400
*hugs*
