Coming out of the theatre
by Gert Strydom
I find an oxygen pipe in my throat,
I am strapped down on a wheeled bed
with people swarming around me.
When the pipe comes out of my mouth
I look at them and they look at me
and they are rather astonished
that I have come to my wits and my throat is sore.
You were dead for moments,
far past unconsciousness,
your heart stopped beating,
you stopped breathing, one of them says
and want to know what I am seeing now?
People standing in a circle
around me clothed in green jackets
I say hoarsely
and answer the question: who I am.
Then one asks somewhat nonchalant
what I remember from the other side?
When I look at him without comprehending
someone else wants to know
how it is to be dead?
On which I answer: