A midnight in a graveyard

I wish I could spend a midnight

Sitting at a place nearby, and

Watch a graveyard sleep.

I wish I could experience,

How it feels like to be among the departed...

A graveyard always sleeps.

It but sleeps to never wake up.

Unlike us; the living humans.

When the tall trees shed its dry leaves

Onto the bosom of the grave,

Do the souls not feel the weight,

Of the dry leaves falling from a giant tree?

How old are the graves?

Are they as old as the age old trees?

If I would ever get a chance

To spend a midnight amidst Nature,

I would probably choose to spend in a graveyard.

The darkness has always been a mystery.

Be it the darkness of a night or

The darkness inside a grave.

O' world ! Will you now call me a pessimist,

Because I weave words on death?

Tell me, who else will feel this hour

Of my sense of loss and my sense of solace?

Am I being negative, to talk about death?

Death is but, the inevitable reality.

Rather than wasting hours,

Talking about death with the living,

I would choose to sit near a graveyard,

And spend time with the dead.

I wish I could spend a midnight

Sitting at a place nearby a graveyard, and

Listen to the trees roaring;

To the rhythm of the wind.

O' trees ! If you could ever talk

I would have asked you -

"When you can release so much oxygen

For the living to breathe,

Can you not then release more of this oxygen

Into the graves?

Can you not then bring back

The dead from their death?"

Copyright Shaheen Akhtar.