The cemetery

One lives there, the mornings are quiet
busy the afternoons with several noises
starting from animals, man and man-made things.
Noise that are allowed and sometimes enjoyed,
but the hot afternoon’s noise, the saddest of them all.
The cemetery, melodious birds, tooting horns,
moaning and groaning; as if it will not end, yet
soon after the moaning and groaning, only the birds
remained after the cars are moved accompanied
by their blaring dirges and tooting horns.

The cemetery, very lonely yet full of all sorts of people:
the rich and poor, proud and haughty, the commoner
and the well-known.
The cemetery, not lively yet underneath the tombs
an active life continues with joy and abundance: that of
termites, that of worms.
The cemetery full of the dead yet above the tombs the
green grasses, the beautiful flowers the trees; one cannot
leave out the rodents and grasshoppers .
the cemetery the end of all our woes and troubles;
from there our moaning ends so our groaning

She lives there too most beautiful most loved,
filled with humour , warmth and passion; all wanted
her: her charming smile and eyes but feared to go there
often; the scary scraps, the bony tombs: feared all, though
painted white.

The cemetery our lovers,
the cemetery where our memories end,
the cemetery our life dodges;
yet in death we search the cemetery,
the cemetery to embrace us.