That mournful Sunday, I still remember,
The day, for my friend, that dusked forever.
People gathered in numbers,
Some faces familiar and some not,
To bid adieu on his last journey.
Tears of pearl that rolled down the cheeks,
The deepest pangs that lingered the hearts,
The silent grief of acceptance and
The grieved wails of non acceptance.
All these and more of displays,
To wreathe the mortal's case.
But the smile, I recollect, that played on his face,
As he lay couched in his case.
A smile so resplendent and of grace,
That the flower in my hand shied off at a gaze.
A smile that never decorated his face,
Never once in his soulful days.
I wonder what elation of thy heart,
that brings a smile so divine when one departs!
Is it the assurance of a dawn after the dusk?
Is it the happiness of ultimate liberation?
Or, is it the silent agreement
to the non-agreeable of the fleshy days?
My thoughts thus wound around
the stubborn negligence of realities.
But my hands didn't fail to scatter
the scoop of sand over the case.
The scoop that added to the heap
that keep the things forever underneath,
Hidden from the eyes that came to wreathe.
