Grave

A few chirping birds
break the surrounding tranquility
alighting on the grave.

A cool wind
like an invisible wooden comb
combs the dead grass on the grave.

The dead are carried off and buried
and from that moment sadness and memory
take root there.

The living come,
clasp their hands before the monument
and depart, leaving their footprints.

The desert is the camel’s grave.
The sea is the sailor’s grave.
But earth is the grave of civilization.

The grave is another shape of death.
It rises like a beautiful breast
above earth’s breast.

Standing there, the grave also grows up,
even in a fierce flood,
even though subjected to storms and buried under sand.

The grave is ears
raised by the horizon.
It distinguishes whose footsteps they are.

GRAVE