I begin all my letters with the same phrase. 

And end them the same way too. 

 

Wishes, 

A thousand and one flowers over your tombstone.

 

It’ll be one gravedigger alone in the pits

Digging down to the bone, 

a skeleton race with no end. 

Where did all our flesh end up anyway? 

 

And details will be forgotten, 

With undocumented plants growing wide

It’ll be vicissitude, 

If not remembered in a textbook. 

 

That’s a subject for memorisation, 

endless hours in the dark, 

and maybe you’ll come back 

Banned. Necromancy. 

 

Look at the clock. Man-hours.

It’s spinning, 

that gambler friend of mine

cashing in his chips, that’s called emptiness

 

There’s a noise we all constantly hear

The sound of a tree falling.

 With wood fibres crying their first tears.

That’s called a beginning. 

 

Every time a bird squeaks, 

On power lines and electricity

What a man-kind we’ve become

With a Geiger counter held over our heads. 

 

And what a red sun over Japan,

And if I could see it

through possession of it in my hands

If only one man could rule the world

 

Wishes.

A thousand and one flowers over your tombstone. 

Writer – Haran Thirumeni
Editor – Kenneth Gong
Artist – Hilda Trinidad on Unsplash

–October 2024–