Mih John Fung

The agents of death
Have carried you home,
And the thorny days
Now left behind
To pierce the hearts
Of mourners here.

The wind is whistling,
The birds are chirping,
The frogs are crocking,
The dogs are barking
And man is calling
But you wouldn’t stare!

Our hearts are heavy
Like the cross of the Lord,
Our eyes are pregnant
Like the stomach of an elephant,
And our faces are wet
Like the marshy land.

Happy days have gone with you,
And sadness now slaps our faces
As you journey down the slopes,
To meet those termites where they dwell
And feed them fat with mortal flesh,
But your souls have gone to bliss.

Amen to your earthly days,
Gone to meet the world beyond,
And on your chaffs we mourn still,
And mourn the deeds nature has done.

Oho! A trace- like state
Now traps us here,
Oho! The world now left behind
Like an empty house,
For in halves you now rest,
Where termites would dwell,
To make a resting place.

Sleep in that sleep,
And fare well in your sleep.

Last updated on July 12, 2007. Maintained by Andrzej Gutek, (www.agutek.com)