the end

what if I pierce through your eyes  
to see what’s inside you  
mother’s red embroidered coffin in dug up black pit  
now rests on the dark side of your soul  
 
it wasn’t raining then  
but I was suffocating with my own tears  
there wasn’t any storm or thunder  
my ears were full of ringing phone  
and sharp, cutting words:  
“She’s dead, haven’t you been informed yet?”  
 
someone was condoling, others – crying  
common pain has drawn us together  
for the time of funeral banquet occurring at the table  
after that: grave was left in silence  
flowers have withered
while all garlands have been thrown away