A Gift Of Grave Yard. Poem by syma tasaduq

Beside my friend are laid all the greats; legends of our epics....
..heroes of Troy..
...theifs of Baghdad,
laureates of Arabia,
...poets and prophets.
and Samurais.
All the bravest knights.....
with the bodies akin to Hercules,
And minds of Plato,
And chastity of Prophets.....
And all their works....buried...
their possessions and themselves.
Those gone before,
those who followed..
those who are still alive..
..still digging thier Graves.
Learning and doing and achieving
....to be buried in the end,
to be placed in angles,
to be hung with ceilings,
to orient the arks,
to fill the blanks...
of Grave.
Under the sands of solitude......
Mud in water,
Ash in fire,
...the ever changing medium.
The unexplored,
the undiscovered...
The turner of the time.
Making discovered the undiscovered,
making the dear, forgetable.
making the charming, the haunted.
The sand-glass clock turns upside down to cover the grave....
And Lord of winds blow of it in our eyes..
and we see nothing.
Just when the showers of mist wash away mud from the Epitaph....
the words, in light....
may not be enough to explain the Man of grave,
but quite enough to draw a silhouette,
In my inner eye....
with finest shapes and faintest hues...
to make my mind charmed or haunted,
...to make me feel love or fear,
not the Greats of ages,
...but the Words and Pages.