The funeral of a friend
It is a cold Sunday in winter and it is five o’clock in the morning. You have passed away just three days ago and today I’m attending your funeral. The procession is on the move and I am alone behind it while you are in front of me. My mind is in the fog whereas you, you are in your last wine just like last week. In front there’s a pale horse whereas behind there’s only me who is crying. It so sad to see that there’s no wind blow to shake my chrysanthemum. If I were God, I think I would have some remorse, now that’s it is snowing.
We are crossing the city in the very early morning but as it is, for me it looks like a ruin. But you don’t know this because you are sleeping but it is very hard to be forced to leave while the city is still sleeping. I am dying of the feeling of wanting to wake up people in order to invent you some kind of a family just for your funeral. And if I were God, I think I would not be very proud of this but I know, we have to do what we can but traditions are there, as usual.
We have arrived to your tomb and the priest has started to pray but what good does it do when you are gone. And now they are putting you into this pit which marks the end of your last trip in this grey and sad world. I am the last person to put some soil upon it, rest in peace my friend. There is nobody around us, just you and me. I look up to the sky and I want to ask a question to God: “Why him and not me?”
I want you to know that I will return very often to this damn field where you will rest. In the summer, I will place a shadow upon you, we will toast silence in the name of all the women we once knew together who never cared about you. And, today the big men are so incompetent that they will wage war against the humanity. Then I will come for good to sleep in your graveyard. And now God, I have some accounts to settle with you and for that, you are not going to have a great laugh for I am going to cry, and cry and cry...
