Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on the ripened grain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
-Anonymous
Yesterday was the 9th day novena. We all went. There was a directive that attendance was a must. I asked in jest whether I could skip, I received the retort that left me no right to plead: “It’s plain. We are all required to go there. If you opt not to, you may not report for work ever.”
Haha! Can’t be blunter than that.
The balat-sibuyas in me ruled. And I spoke no more. Weee...
2 comments:
The poet keeps living as the world. The poem is working up to the revelation in the last two lines. Pleasant writing. :-)
truly. anonymous is a real good writer ;)
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