Stealth.
It comes
in the night.
It comes
when we look for it;
It comes
when we don’t.
In the
midst of laplis anpil (much rain),
A mixture
of shouts and tears
Pierce through
the downpour,
Mix themselves
in.
Next
door a life is taken.
Next door
a loss is mourned.
At 9pm
on a Monday night,
A body
is driven to the morgue.
I was in
the bathroom,
Reading how
Saul’s jealousy
Drove him to order his son to
Drove him to order his son to
Assist in
Jonathan’s BFF’s death.
From
outside, the soothing sounds of
Steadily
stampeding raindrops
Were overpowered
by bloodcurdling screams,
Pouring out
their love on the lost.
I walked
outside and called for John,
Hoping that
this loyal guard would know
Something
I didn’t know.
Mouri, he pronounced: Death.
Just a
month ago, this letter combination,
Meant nothing
to me as Venise uttered it.
My moto
driver explained that
Lamar had
died, was murdered.
Two
weeks later I found myself
Pressed
beside familiar people from Swasant-Kenz,
Paying tribute
to their beloved friend, father, lover.
He’d
been murdered by a hired hit man…
…over a
plot of land.
His widow
is pregnant with his 3rd child.
John now
tells me to wait while he
Peers over
our wall to see who has passed,
But when
he returns, he announces the
Body has
already been covered.
Breath
fills the lungs, oxygen knows
Where to
go.
When the
heart forgets how to beat,
It’s
hard to accept the lifeless body left behind.
Into
what eternity has this soul been swept?
Into
what destiny will this loved one ascend?
How can
we reach out
And pull
lives towards the grace-rooted tree of life?
How can
the night be transformed into light?
Resurrection
has brought everlasting life.
