We sit in the hall.
Her photo garlanded,
she is smiling, natural
Fruits and flowers are laid out for her
Incense fills the air
The centre of attention,
she must be happy.
Family and friends join hands in prayer
raise voices to chant
relish her favourite dishes served
cheer the crow that caws during prayers as a good omen,
her good soul accepting the day's devotion,
then whisper amongst themselves
of how she laughed and walked
in their memories
recalling her words of praise
her zest for life.
She lived to pray,
thought of God at all times
before and after spewing ungodly words
that tore through
skin muscle ligament veins
to the very soul of those she lived with.
She always welcomed people with a smiling face
wished good things for loved ones overseas,
wrote in her book all their names everyday, so devout
but sat stony-eyed at home
to greet the family,
mouth ready to contort, unleash curses,
fill the air with sulphrous words,
suffocate them in her fumes
She'd never fail to have a cup of tea ready for visitors,
then berate the grandson
for not offering her a sandwich
telltale, and watch blows rain upon him,
drive wedge after wedge in a fragile nest
Swirling in contradictions
much is left unsaid.
With all respect driven towards the dead
what do they do with the treacherous thoughts in their heads?
The ones in her shadow
bore the brunt of the weight
of the cloak of decency
she shed upon entering home,
the dreaded battlefield
where she shredded the family
as commander in chief,
a heavy presence
waiting to be waited on,
only ever unhappy and
and ever ready to show it,
but only to sum total three,
who'd never be believed,
who would have to bear the taunt
that they must have behaved heinously
to provoke a saint,
the self she showed the world.
So how do we mourn
this angel to the world
witch to the few,
compounded by the good death
she was granted:
speedy,
almost painless,
in another country
surrounded by loved ones,
invoking the name of God in her last breath
granted a beautiful service,
air filled with prayer,
hallowed words that ring hollow
to the three who had quivered under her wrath,
wondering
what went wrong with them?
Maybe, all her prayers did help her,
even if her words and actions slashed, drew blood
Maybe, God was looking out for them,
taking her away when she was away,
so they could do their duty
more guest than host,
lifting a burden off their bent backs,
freeing them after 15 years.
Maybe they were her safe space
to be her true self,
and He judged better them than the world.
There is hope she is happy now
the three need feel no guilt,
just accept that angels are devils too
with some,
know they have permission to feel
this uneasy mix at her passing,
that it is okay to celebrate
her ominous presence lifted
from their home forever
Unburdened,
maybe
they can breathe,
find themselves again,
there is hope.
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