#Day 663: Coffins

I walked passed the worn out cemetery today
A sullen, grey place around the corner.
Few acres of barren land, a gated community,
For polished headstones and fainting grave lines.
Six feet under dried grass and withered flowers,
Lay a neighbour, a relative, a classmate and strangers.
I wondered every now and then, who’d visit my funeral.
Maybe he would, maybe they’d give it a rain check.
Would it be a sunny day or would the sky weep for me?
The band would be chosen, the march loud but slow.
At times like these, when I walk by the little graveyard,
I’m bemused by the little five feet they’d need to send me
Off into a place they lie of as better than here.
And this evening, I recall, of the ones in the dust
That rustles around my heavy footsteps.
Thence the dust that settles on forgotten burial grounds.
I imagine my coffin would be black and sleek,
A tender dismissal for a plethora of memories.
The temporary hostel of human souls,
Rotting away into the wooden boxes.
But when I close my eyes to sleep, what
I fear the most is not waking up as me.

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