White stones lay scattered on the ground,
Some half-buried,
Were they once a wall?
Rotting petals and bleached plastic roses
Adorn a grave.
The name long succumbed to rain and wind
Letters, one by one, chipped off and erased,
By an invisible hand.
Erased from time.
Erased from mind.
What was the name? To whom did it belong, I wonder.
Unintelligible carvings keep their secrets – lost in the nicks of a tombstone.
The stone sinks,
As if embracing the earth’s touch.
Warm obliviousness waits below.
Why resist the pull?
We are all destined to fall below?
Fall, vanish, and melt into
Flowers, grass, mud and pebbles,
And stones that were,
Maybe,
Once a stone wall.
