Bones Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Bones



Sometimes
When I go
To cemeteries
I wonder
What the bones
Underneath the
Silent grounds
Are doing.

And in
Somber nights,
I think about them
Again
Sometimes rattling,
Often times breathing
But still to me,
They are dead.

In another plane
Of ridiculous marvels,
I wonder
Over the tombs,
The lulled requiems
And the clandestine
Photographs,

Are the bones
Wondering
What I am
Doing above them,
Alive
And breathing?

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Vipins Puthooran 25 December 2011

Wow, an excellent thought! ! Good write! !

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