This is Saturday – almost in the evening,
I and my friend Lasmina are paying a visit
to Rohullah’s lonely grave.
A small, silent and unfamiliar lane
leading to empty passageways that
host us to this despairing cemetery
where the grief roars as we are walking in.
Nothing much can be seen except
the fresh grass that almost entirely
shrouded Rohullah’s disowned tomb…
I quietly sit there, cleaning them up
one-by-one with thousands of thoughts
articulating in the back of my troubling head.
Only a rotting gravewood
instead of a ‘gravestone’
stands upon his lonesome chest
with his details written on this wood,
are almost washed away by rain.
Few dead leaves and wilted flowers,
I see are laying upon his tomb,
waiting for the mighty wind
to blow them away.
It is surrounded by tall and scary trees;
the gravestones have turned into staring eyes;
the silent, hushing sound of blowing breeze
triumphs over my thoughts –
as the if these people are coughing at me.
No visitor but only the departed leaves
are falling around,
kissing his deceased eyes
as he longs for a familiar visitor,
or his grieving mother and father…!
It has been long forgotten,
no one seems has been here;
his grave has not been visited
in the last one or two years.
The sky is dark…darkened;
the swaying clouds are tempestuous,
roving in grief with tears, pouring down
knocking upon the roofed chests of
these laying bodies with mercy.
Rohullah must be scared laying lonely
among these unfamiliar people
or maybe excited – waving at me
having a familiar person sitting
beside his tomb in this isolated hill,
Ciawi Makam (cemetery).
@Abdul Samad Haidari