At The Cemetery Poem by RIC BASTASA

last Friday
i went to the cemetery

i like the silence of the place
the trimmed grass
and the tiled mausoleums

the air is warm on this cemented
territory
this silent city
this paradise of mutes and
rested souls

i like the creeping vines with white flowers
and reddish center
i envy the stones and the pebbles
i appreciate the grills and the shiny
engravings
metallic dates of death and birth
and the last epitaphs of the
beloved

but like you
i do not wish to stay that longer
it is not my time yet
as i still have other places to go
the noisy ones
the intriguing places of the heart
those where we lose ourselves
and wish sometimes
that homes be not that far away
that lights in the living room and the kitchen
still function well
the odor of the fried bananas
the aroma of coffee
the smoke from their tobacco pipes
the smell of perfume on slender necks
the silk in their gowns
the colors of their eye shades
the movement of their hands
the activity of our worlds
on their orbits our bodies as planets
in our living universe.

we offer flowers for the dead
we wish them luck too
and we keep on moving somewhere
not losing hope
keeping the grip for life
whatever that be.

the marital bed of course
keeps the central point of this existence.