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!
