Caskets and the Truth: A Poem


There won’t be any candles at my funeral,

It’s disturbing to think that they’ll cremate my remains,

Hard to imagine me and my soul gone,

But imagine I do every single day.

Comrades will cry, perhaps raise a toast or two,

Mother will weep, brother will judge,

People I knew would whisper their verdicts about insanity…

I always thought life was a funny word.

There’s no honor among thieves, and neither

Is there anything noble about lives in the depths of despair.

We live, we survive, we breathe, we die,

And funerals are all that are left as memories.

I wish you’d remember the way my eyes sparkled,

Ma always said eyes were the best thing about me.

I hope you’d realize I was never truly honest, not even to me,

That sometimes I’d lie to get people to like me.

The happiest day of my life was perhaps

A day my mind found it imperative to forget.

And truth be told, I wasn’t as scared as I say

When I nearly drowned, contemplating whether that was my last breath.

Hope doesn’t resurface once buried in caskets,

It’s better to let the ghosts stray into the valley of death,

For when they committed themselves to the nimbus

They meant for their corpus to never come back.

– Rubani Kaur

Photography Credit: Christopher Campbell


2 Comments Add yours

  1. Terrific word display!

    Liked by 2 people

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