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–
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