Talking Graves

Standing desolate and forgotten

Among shrinking shrubs and peeping crucifixes

Washed by rain and sun

Dotting the distant spaces

Like eroded ant hills unattended

But I listen and hear

Voices from the grave

Murmuring and humming

Now loud, then silent

Playing drums of rattling bones

Cranking and creaking coffin lids

I hear them whisper

Desolate and forgotten

Memories filled with nostalgia

A past they lived and loved

And a present forgotten

Memories of conquests and loses

I can hear them whimper

I listen and hear

Drowning thuds and unending taps

Like footsteps fading away

Growing faster and lighter

And dashing to a speedy run

I can hear them whir   

 












                                                                                        

by Okandiogada