If The Dead Could Talk

Step gently on this ground, stranger!
this ain't no ordinary patch of earth.
I know this trespassing isn't your fault,
how could you have suspected
and known earth's secrets.

Do not be surprised , sir,
no treasure is buried at this spot,
not even a snake's bill you will find there,
this ain't no site for worship too.

It's not even a drug-trafficker's mound,
no hashish or marijuana 'wealth' hidden beneath;
nothing archaeologically significant
artifacts or relics are embedded there.

A barren patch with sparse grass
leveled to ground at the hands of time;
beneath it 'live' the crumbled bones,
hair and nails of a fallen man,
long forgotten long abandoned
by claimants of love once his.

Can you hear the crackling of his bones?
Can you hear the sound of his bleak skull?
Can you hear the shriek of his departed soul?
Oh, no! How could you! You are a living one,
not attuned to the world of the dead;
you belong to a different thriving community
that once i bragged as of mine.

O sir! Tread gently on the patch below your feet
the thumping of your feet hurts me,
it disturbs my visiting soul and the angel
who is noting my life-account
and peeping at you with an envious eye.