I Love The Cemetery

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.

Finding Peace

The most perfect of afternoons came by with laughs, a good walk and some few stop-over’s at small food booths to lay away hunger and thirst. It was s’pose to be a planned visit weeks before, a small gathering of friends to meet some agendas of a future event to end up with good times from a good company.

That was a couple of hours ago, just a few minutes of bidding goodbyes when this thought came to me.

I love long walks, and going home at the strike of 7pm was nothing so new to me, the night was in its darkest still, fortunately the skies offered consideration for the stars to shine, a bustle of busy night-goers flock the street, for some home will be their stop, to a few unknown to me as the night brings them their foreseen time. I enjoyed these stolen times, a time for myself, a nightly outburst of thoughts and to add, the northeastern wind kissing my uncovered skin.

In all, everything in a blur of ideation… was at peace. Silent. Tranquil.

There are times in life that we search for the better meaning of peace, the thought of even the whole world would succumb and give itself up for an understanding of the word. But for all at stake, blood has to be spilled, relationships broken, foundations crumble… in a point of view I speak nothing of politics, or disbanding wars, and even organizing a movement for world union!?? I don’t!

A simple thought like anything else, I found peace in some way or the other by just walking alone, being one with the night, experiencing to many may think mundane, regular & quite a common moment but on those lengthened strides I did, there was serenity unmistakably felt. A slow yet fulfilling flow of stillness through my veins. Unmasked. Pure.

The query baffles me even more, why do we have to search an endless broad thought when we have had it spent in our lonesome times, at the calmness of our minds and the hushed moments stolen by chance!??