Sunday, June 15, 2008

Before the Funeral

In the crisp,
willowy,
green to the core air
the Qur'an hums and vibrates to the swaying rhythm
of kind-faced strangers in songkok and kopiah
where women and men waddle in and out in droves
whispering,
sobbing,
grieving before
eating
home cooked curry, kurma and sweet steamed rice
smelling spicey, creamy and thick
they travel up my nose,
forcing tears to my eyes
as my ears buzz with the cackles of makcik and pakcik
they seem to penetrate every
minute of a space in
my vision
except
in that tiny incense lingering room
where my grandma now lies
looking old
grey
cold to the core
just deafeningly,
quiet
silence.