Requiem For A Rainy Day

In stripes the drops splatter against the window
while others join them in a rainstorm,
the blue white of a thunder flash
that falls instantaneously
stays brightly caught on the inner eye
while some drops are still hanging.

On such a drizzly day,
it is said that my dad
was carried to his grave,
with the wind
drawing on mothers black veil
cypresses whipping to and thro
and tears were pouring down,

while the pastor read again
from the Bible and prayed,
people said their last words,
lying rose petals down during the rain,

but in my memory (that of a three year old child) ,
I remember it as a sunny day
on which black cars in a procession
parked just behind our house,

with people with shining shoes
walking on the dirt road
to where the cemetery
was situated across from the house.

With every rain shower
the one side of that grave
now wants to cave in still further
with the branches of the tree that was planted
thoughtlessly on mother’s place fluttering.

[Reference: Requiem vir ‘n reëndag (Requiem for a rainy day) by H.J. Pieterse.]

by Gert Strydom

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