Walking along the cemetery was fine, the weather in its gloomiest scene. The wind cold as it has been for days now, fewer sparrows brave the skies, a sudden hymn came by me and I placed myself in a trance.
From afar, the place looked like a desert of marbles, white cement & greens. I was thinking if ever in any chance possible that I made the cemetery a place of meditation, a prayer room, or some sort of emotional freedom space. In that, I really have a lot of space to become totally free.
I stared at it, looking like a tourist seeing a panoramic view or perhaps some monk finally seeing a paradise to feel the presence of some mystique force. I couldn’t get away with the fact that someday, I’ll be lying my rotting body beneath this land of decay and mundane-ness.
Yet I find the cemetery an endearing thought worthy of words spared for countless ideation. I could stand there for the entire afternoon, mooning over lost time and searching for some meaning amidst indefinite display of festering and eerie silence.
The sky went deeper in grey and slowly goose bumps crawl through me… like it was some dead person’s fingers tracing my spine, a cold embrace from the surging wind and the blissful feeling of getting a little chill.
I love the cemetery; someday I want to spend time within the bounds of its white walls, crumbling slowly with time, unnerved by some lifeless being haunting the moldering depths of its moisten soil and with its silence killing a child his time, unafraid of what lies beneath the barren white, inspired of it’s perfect calmness.
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