poetry critical

online poetry workshop

2:37 pm, Thursday, 20 October 2016

His heart has stopped.
He was
in a place of marble, glass, concrete.
The man
is transported to a mosque,
washed, cleaned, put into a box
the box is about the size of the man.
He had been given last prayers,
and everyone huddled him
to a land of a lot of human-sized boxes
and buried there.
For some reason,
he was always kicked
out of the soil,
They tried to buried it anyhow,
thinking something may excavate him
but it still happens.
They tried to put it into a concrete box
but still -
it happens.
So what they can do?
They try to bury it somewhere else.
That also did not work.
Now every inch of soil rejected him,
so what can they do?
Someone thought of putting him in his building,
that one with the marbles, glass, concrete.
After all, if he is living,
he would be happy with it.
So, they set to work.
They cut a section of marble floor out
to excavate the soil
They discovered
the soil is actually concrete
still, they want to get the job done.
The hole is gaping.
Gray, gray hole.
They put him into it.
The thing is,
how to 'pour' the marble?
So they smashed the marble
into smithereens
so that it becomes dust.
Then, mixed it with a little cement,
lime, sand and water,
so that it becomes a porridge.
Then, they poured into the concrete box
that marble.
They flatten it
and voila.
His body,
in his marble,
in his building.
Someone thought of putting a stone
to mark him where his body is.
His stone is placed
and voila.
Now everyone knows
where his body is.
If he is living,
he would be happy with it,
so they say.
Sometime later,
one kid in the building
asks his mother,
'is he made of marble?'.
Then, another kid asks
'are we made of marble?'

Version 1.11: 15 February 2017

19 Oct 16

(define the words in this poem)
(49 more poems by this author)

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