Dust To Dust: A Poem by Kalucharan Sahu

Lonely, peaceful, and away from the melee and milling crowds,
The cemetery lies, among yews and oaks, old and branched like shrouds.
Dotted with headstones, and ornate or ordinary crosses, they bear witness
To the status and wealth of those, who lie beneath, in harness.

Some tombs, lying flat, facing the sky, bear the burnt sun,
And others, standing and straddling the graves, care for none.
Flowers, fresh or dried, adorn the graves, reminding of memories,
New, old or receding, sighing under heaps of dead leaves.

Each tomb has a tale to tell, and in search of a storyteller;
And they lie in wait patiently, forgetting their deeds, good or bad, in the cellar.
The cemeteries, like old libraries, have their own compulsion;
Fresh entrants, force the tombs to make way for the new, without revulsion.

But there’s nothing to be disheartened about sleeping under the earth, blind.
Those who walk the earth, are no better; they sleep in the graveyard of mind.