Neither the Grave Waits for the Dead
Neither the grave waits for the dead,
Nor does the soil know patience…
The true waiting
Lives in the chest of those left behind.
The earth is in a hurry,
It quietly covers what remains.
But pain cannot be covered,
Not even by time.
They think the dead are the ones who leave,
Yet what leaves is only the body.
The voice remains, the gaze remains,
Unfinished sentences remain.
Neither the grave waits for the dead,
Nor does death ask for the right moment.
The real death
Is diminishing from within while still alive.
A person freezes like a photograph,
Falls silent like an object.
And most of all,
Lives with “if onlys” in this world.
The grave may be full,
But what remains empty
Is a heart.
