Unspoken Epitaph – a Poem by Qumran Taj

538460_254631081304645_940793958_nI was once like you. They say I lived at one time. Aye, it is the story that is told.
Where mystery festers under every rock
And red-eyed demons pull tight their shadowy cloak lest we spy them lurking.
Sure, your days flow without end it seems. But, alas, wherever do they go?

I was once like you. But now I am where you must one day be. Soon enough my friend, soon enough.
That place where spent days live. The “where” that is nowhere at all.
This is where the river meets the sea, it waits for you.
This place-less place, this timeless time.

When pushing and pulling stops for you, there we will meet, compare stories and throw back our heads in uproarious Laughter!
It waits for you, when head and hands drop and the “day” is truly done.
Do not fear. What you see is naught but the anti-you, the anti-me.
Mere reflections that wiggle and wave in this enchanted pool called living.

It waits for you as it waited for me, but I gave no thought to it.
Taken by the rush of days, the fitful, frantic busy-ness of scurrying about to do this thing or that,
To meet, to greet, to pound the flesh and grin clown-like and sad. Endless deadlines, dead-ends and dead leads finally took their toll.
Without a moments warning was I ushered to a black door that loomed large over me. There I finally fell silent and took my pause. Only then at journey’s end.

I was once like you, certain of my strength, sure of my beliefs.
And in my mind, each thought had its assigned place, packed like lifeless sardines in a can.
How easily the words flowed; reality, truth, God, right and wrong. I knew it all then. I knew it all.
Wagging finger and wagging tongue spoke judgment from on high where, in the fever of my delusion, I thought myself enthroned.
What grand presumptions! How profound my ignorance! How preposterous the thought that my truth fits all sizes. How happily we oblige our fellow to shoulder the heavy yoke of our own contrived reality.

It waits for you, here amongst the tombstones, yes, a bit of good news at the end of your fevered round.
Beyond that door whose threshold all must cross lies the cure for your arrogance,
The settling of accounts and your long awaited emancipation.
In this misty town, cold and moon drenched, your fear of death itself must die, for it is only the living that fear dying. The rest of us know better.

I was once like you, radiant with life, my own grand finale still a mystery. There I stood, as you do now,
drawn to contemplating these dreary gray stones, carving out a few scant minutes from the usual frenetic daily dash, to think in somber tones and rekindle memories of loved ones past.

Ah yes, the so-called loss of loved ones who have crossed the threshold before you.
The reach of love is never cut short, neither does its power decay like flesh. Take heart and do not despair. Love is made of sturdy stuff and you will know it full well in due time.

Take heed, goodly stranger and mark these words well. I was once like you but soon you will be like me. Therefore, cherish each day, every passing smile, every childish hug. Revisit them like lines from some great old book.
For one day the cover of this great tome will close for good. But take heart. There are other stories on your journey and you will play a starring role. Yes, indeed, know that your ending swiftly brings a new beginning. That new beginning waits for you as it did for me and so it has been since the beginning of time and will always be.

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