There was so much symmetry
In the cemetary it just made you want to stay
As if planted in cement
the similitude was not in headstones
though order ruled there too
No it was the solitude...the silence
As if humans were really made for this
No crush of useless voices
No sniping...or complaints
No crying or ornate crooning
or baying at the moon
Just that blessed stillness
Mocking seminary thoughts
Maybe all this cemetery symmetry is heaven after all
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think you have stumbled on some secret knowledge here. What if an end is secretly a beginning, and only a few realize this?