Nostalgia

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!