By Ahmed Latif
A funeral attended by sculptors, composers, and the soulless.
The choir have no notes and no hymns to read.
The tenor grows meek when the aria begins to bleed.
A sarcophagus etched into the contours of my face with tears.
Statues commissioned out of misery and grief.
Two lions stand guard at the mausoleum gate.
Weeping sister angels above your resting place.
A gargoyle on the roof ponders who is the murderer?
An inquiry into the cause and a cause for your concern.
We burned every castle to the ground searching for the thief.
We scorched the kindly earth without any reprieve.
But I am the madman and we are all thieves.
When love is buried, justice hangs itself from its favourite tree.
Tears water the flowers on the mausoleum floor.
Begging you to return once more.
But there is no going back, so it is the flowers I shall love now.