Grave Silence

neither can I hear the rustle of the dry leaves,

nor the wind sing as they course through the trees,

for there is a mysterious stillness in the air,

as if a discord between nature and I has just commenced.

The piercing infant's cry has faded out;

the boisterous laughter of a youth has vanished,

and the vibrant debate of an adult has waned,

for all is met by an odd quietness,

as if humankind had ceased to commune with me.

More so, it seems I'm devoid of form and feel,

with a nil sense of lifelessness and inertia,

for the only essence left is mind and spirit.

Certainly, the phenomenon without is within.

Suddenly, memories come in flashes and bits & pieces;

eventful images in haze and vague,

narrating my past in a haphazard manner,

ushering in a seemingly long-felt feelings of

joy, passion, pain, and guilt;

for the life I had lived, I missed so,

and I crave for another chance to make it perfect.

Thus, in the space for the dead I lay,

awaiting what is inevitably forthcoming,

with a solemn, yet fervent expectation,

to put an end to this grave silence.