The Funeral: A Poem


“It’s time to go back to where you came from,”

He said as he held my once warm fingers

With his ice cold hand.

And as the Thunder roared one last time,

I decided that I wasn’t coming back.

As they dressed my wounds and laid me down,

I swore that there would be no more heartache.

I was the one who had picked up the blade again,

Let the cold surface break my healed skin.

I was the one who chose to leave nothing behind

But my ashes,

The blackened, beaten remains of my worthless existence.

And now, it was time to take his hand,

Follow him to where I’d come from.

The Reaper had awakened from his slumber

Just to whisk me away from my Thunder.

And in the unlawful influence of my intoxication,

I happily complied.

– Rubani Kaur

Photography Credit: Unknown

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