They perform
ablution minutes before their death. Their preparations are ready for the place
they’ll go…
The ones in
the world lose them. Their lives are like a bridge between the world and the
heavens, lightning conductors.
They are
lessons for tomorrow. They are buried quietly, slowly…
The earth,
accepts them with an expression of ‘’I’m next…’’ And friends get deeper than
ever, hearts accept it.
And we, those
left behind; prayers on our mouths, patience in our hearts, deep looks in our
eyes, half breathes in our lungs, pains in our lives…
They have
won. Their lines are organized. Yet the lines in their funeral prayer are so
little…
They have no
tombstone. They have wooden tombstones.
Their
precious fund is their faith, of course there are conclusions.
My father’s life is over, but his
fight is not. Says the
Saint of the sons... While some get rebellious, losing the most beloved, some
keep being patient and never have break down.
The flag
never falls, it flaps.
It flaps and
gives hope for the end, the end of the slander.
Hopes
inside, standing straight outside!
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