Our graves reside in many countries,
foreign tongues give
blessings
that we cannot comprehend.
The soil smells alien
& the stones refuse to speak
our language.
Our graves do not
recognize our
cherished memories.
They cannot remember;
they were never there.
These lands that embrace
our losses
like fallen leaves,
gather them,
only to
blow them
into oblivion.
I know not
where I will
to be buried;
only God knows.
I, the daughter of a father,
born under one sun,
passed below another moon,
& laid to rest
where war ravagers
stole his tombstone.
Our graves will not
grasp the footsteps of
visitors.
Thank God for winds that
lift our souls
into many places.
Places, where the blessings
of loves ones
can be touched...
Note: For dearest Aunt Maysoon who passed on 9/29/2019; a dear friend; fellow walker; animal lover and fountain of kindness, wisdom and knowledge.
