The Story under an Oak - The Sun

The Oak gave me enough shade so I grabbed my book and the pen
Its all imaginary, the oak, the book and the pen. Even the one writing is.
Among the graves I sat, listening to the Wind
What other place can be so sorrowful yet so happening at the same time?
Its a duality that one hardly comprehends
One side of my soul looks at all these graves
So many people. So many relationships. And the many more tears
How often do their families remember them anymore?
All the great achievements forgotten
All the Sins forgotten
Some tombs clean and the others overgrown with weeds.
Just like our hearts. Even the clean ones hide nothing but rotten flesh and bones
Ah I see a kid there.
I wonder who he has lost. I see him sitting at this tomb
I wonder which part of his Soul I am seeing right now?
Is that the broken side? Or the happy side?
Well, as I write this, my sad side of soul holds this pen
What prayer are you saying I wonder?
To bring comfort to the lost soul?
Or is it to bring a smile in someone else's heart?
Why do you look so pale I wonder.
There I see another woman at a tomb, a fresh one with broken wings lying at the top
What has she lost? She lies on the tomb with her arms around
As if hugging the very bones.
The drunkards outside the gates look at her and laugh
She has lost her mind they yelled
Well, dont we all lose minds in the graveyards?
They carry on with a jolly smile while the tears inside the graveyard disappear
I see the souls of these two mourners
I feel them. I know them.
The sad part is, no matter how beautifully the lives were lived
Its hard to keep the emotions locked up when it comes to grieving
And not all can grieve for such a long time
As I said, the clouds, they move on.