Magnificent stones, white as snow
Some so enormous, those of the rich
Beautifully designed, piece of art
The letters spelling out the names and dates, perfectly engraved
Presence of fresh roses, some surrounded with small gardens full of lovely flowers.
Some stones so tiny and ugly, left unattended
They’re the ones of the poor, no roses only dog shit
The dog too got tired and one day walked away, eventually understood the master was never coming back.
This city, the city of the dead
The city where our dead relatives live, waiting for the transition into the afterlife
The city where the living relatives come to hold prayers, some just to accompany the dead
With that silence, they must be lonely
No one is talking, only tears
Beautiful memories, reminiscences
Bad memories, tears from the sad past
You call it the cemetery, I call it city of the silent.