Mom's Burial; Prose And Poetry
It is quite natural to eulogise our near and dear ones. Still, my mother was an extremely self-giving woman. She served many a poor and downtrodden soul, and she was never known to leave any in want. She helped even the oppressed and all those that suffered injustice also. When my mother died, my brother did the shopping for the drinks. He was very inspired when a shopkeeper gave him a case of free drinks, and refused to take money for it. When asked why, he said that it was because when he came to the country of our birth, our mother was very kind to him.
My mom had a great funeral in a lovely casket. The church, grave and house were packed, and people came to pay their respect for days! The Prime Minister and his wife also came to the funeral.
I was born in the countryside in a cute little village called Hermitage, in the Parish of St. Patrick's, Grenada. Life was very simple and as free as a bird. I bathed in the rivers, played marbles in grandpa's and other backyards and was extremely happy. My mother was very poor. She got pregnant at 16 and so was forced to leave school and ultimately to find another home for herself and her young child-me. She took me to the city where I went to school and grew up but times were initially quite hard.
I have written a poem eulogising my mom and I also wrote a memoriam in her honour. This here is a more simple poem about the burial. Hope it inspires you.
At the feet of a burnt-out Palm tree,
Lies Mom's peaceful body, smiling; free.
Church and Cemetery prayers; songs,
Still stirring in my Soul:
'At the Feet of The Master I Sleep';
'The Lord is My shepherd', … some weep.
Just thirty metres away,
The mortal remains of Mom's husband,
Lies tranquil beneath the grass and earth.
R.I.P., A new and boldly engraved Cross,
Is fixed into his grave.
Across Mother's own,
Lies strewn a myriad of 'majestic' flowers,
So fitting for such a dauntless; magnanimous Spirit.
Before that, a luminous-radiant-crested Casket,
Was laid into the ground;
A dignified 'physical', reposed in rest,
As the Soul seared on its way,
To Its Celestial Home.
It was then that the eloquent Sermon of the Priest,
And the charming voices of the many
Reverberated in our Souls.
Adieu, Dear Mom, we'll meet again.
Your children's loving obeisance to the Supreme,
Will make it so.
You have filled us with pride divine,
And some day we'll meet again in Paradise.
--Manatita, 14th November, 2011.
Rumi on death
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