He welcomed the news
Of the death of his grand Uncle
With a wry smile
1/2 a chuckle
An unnoticed guffaw
And an immeasurable inner joy
A scintilla of ruth
Was to him a vice

Then suddenly like an augurer
Whose duty it is to project
Feast or famine
He moves into the world
Of dreams
And thinks what feast
There will be after the burial

Was this soul any different
From Camus' Meursault?
Oh how we displace
Our priorities
Ponder over this:
You live with a friend
All your life
And when he parts
To the land of our taciturn fathers
You think
You can substitute
That companionship
With Kola nuts wines or schnapps?

The corpse is priceless
The coffin has a price tag
The bier has value
Our tears
May be useful
But the termites too
Must eat
The "drinkards" must warm
Their liver and blood
And hungry funeral fanatics
Must be compensated
For the high cost of cloth

If we must mourn
The dead
Then let us start
With the newly-born
For a faithful funeral fanatic
Once told me:
"When you are born
It is to wait to die."

The Ambic Philosophe

Copyright © 2007 Ambrose Thompson Arthur

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