Monday, 25 January 2016


Someone has deceased 
in the neighbourhood. 
Whether it's an elderly person 
who lived life to the fullest; 
or a middle-aged one 
forced to abandon responsibilities, 
thanks to fate; 
or one still young and full of dreams, 
wishing for a better tomorrow; 
or a child who had not even comprehended
what life is, 
I cannot ascertain. 

I can hear 
the piercing sound of the conch-shell 
and the heavy clang of the wooden beater 
on a metal plate - 
sounds from the funeral procession. 

The mind works non-stop,  
albeit in strange ways. 
Some synapses work in synergy 
and transport me to a time 
when life was easier. 

The piercing sound and 
the metallic clang 
conjure a 15-year old memory - 
one involving my ex-neighbour, 
one filled with the insouciance of childhood, 
one that revolves around our reproduction of funeral sounds. 

An onomatopoeic memory.  

The 10-year old me and  
the 7-year old ex-neighbour 
say hi in my mind's eye, 
galloping around carefree, 
shouting "Cooooo... Ding, ding, ding 
Ding, ding, ding....." 

I smile briefly, 
come back to the present, and 
THEN pray that the departed soul 
rests in peace.  

How inappropriate! 

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