“Mother, do not weep for me,
Who am I in the grave” – Anna Akhmatova

Weep not for me, dwelling of my repose
monument of my vain hope for immortality
now that Life’s swift journey is over
my part is done, with open arms
make my inanimate clay –
an inevitable gain of your purchase welcome.

I am he whom this pit unearths for
I know this unhandsome event is mine
gathered are: grievin’ friends – taken to tears
cheerful foes – in this necessity rejoice.
This’ my destiny – a child of blot,
Alas! Your solemn open gate frightens me not.

To you, I say: “Understand aright Natures’ intuition
be reminded hourly of your internment in others funeral,
Grave is universal, so all her deeds
she throws up her womb where we must lay
our sins, our afflictions, our passions, our hopes
till that day in a fair eternity, we answer our maker”.

As mine slowly but surely closes
it opens for another at birth –
this’ the law and constitution of Nature
whose will it be, this better estate of our beckon
now – its’ mine, today might be yours, tomorrow his
weep not for me, who am I in the grave!

Copyright © 2019. Spilledwoords. All rights reserved.

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