Wednesday, 20 January 2010


Crying at a funeral
for no particular reason,
other than the heavy sense of
grief and
similar watered eyes.

We all cry the same;
though in different moments
and shades;
some tears are kept inside
and lubricate us,
tempting us to fall apart
like frantic machines.

Crying at a funeral,
for no other reason
than respect:
a poor and facile reason
that any cheap conjuror
can tease
from water-ready eyes.

Crying at a funeral
because I would like
to have known you
and loved you
like your dearest;

But I never did.
And I never will.
So I sigh,
but my eyes don't become moist
with tears
that have no place,
or bearing
within my soul.

I'm sorry,
but sometimes the dead
die quietly,
and the living
have quiet thoughts,
that cannot be placed
and so live
in suspended animation;

but somewhere,
real tears are shed for you:
tears that began on the day of
tears that will run for ever,
weeping at the beauty,
and banality,
and wonder,
and futility of it all;

tears that run through us all,
and prompt us to remember
that one day
we too will die so pointlessly-
like you -
after living under the
hammers of others,
and a boundless night sky.

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