An hour ago, I went to a funeral of a relative of mine. I remember so vividly how selfless he was when taking care of my grandfather and the time he brought him to the hospital. I also remember how we used to have lunch together right after my grandfather’s hospital appointment. My grandfather passed away a few years back, and now, RIGHT NOW, THIS MOMENT, the very thing I once felt most grateful for, has now become lifeless.
He had transformed the funeral place into some kind of sanctum of death. Being there reminded me of my mortality and how complacent I was when I should have done things as if I would die the next day.
I wrote this poem because I do not know what death means to me. I do not know what life would look like after death. Either there is a life in which consciousness is merely being transferred between one another, or there is simply nothing at all.
Here it goes.
There is a casket to be made
It will contain not only your unmoving body but also all that you had left
Inside the cold little box where there is only a little space
Why make it big when you are nothing but a soulless façade?
Watching the bloodless face along with every bit of regret
It is as if you are staring right at Osiris’s face aka the God of death
He tells you that this is the finale everyone will inevitably face
Yet somehow you are confused over what lies ahead
The one who thinks or the one to which people are now paying respects
If you have the freedom to talk right after you are dead
Is the debatable topic now desirable or simply a distasteful subject?
What if there is no “you” but a pile of flesh
Will this be the ending where you can finally tell yourself to rest
What if there is still “you” standing cluelessly as to why you are lying there
Will you ask yourself whether you have the courage to come again?
From whom the thoughts derived is now beyond common sense
Because probably you have no choice but to relive the dream as though death is still furthest away.
-THE END-