Six Feet Under

By Izhar Vinson Iyapillai

What would I look for when I am Six feet under?

When I am dead, gone and buried in the sand.

When my coffin is ready and the sermon that was planned.

What would my body look like lifeless and cold?

I hope I rest Six feet under, after I grow old

My life would have been lived and my senses would have died

No more tears or joy, no matter how hard I cried.

Would my face rest with a smile even though I know none?

So the world would know that I was always a cheerful one.

The men would clad black and the women in sorrow,

The children would know nothing for there is always a tomorrow.

They would walk up to the bed at the altar, where I lay.

With a few tears in their eyes and nothing left to say.

A handful will hold my hand, a few will stare and walk by

A certain number will wail and the rest will cry.

I might not have done great things, I might not have lied

All that I would have done was loved, loved and tried.

My family would take the front rows and my friends the next,

They might have all just been informed by text.

They would sit silently and look at my pictures

While the priest read out the scriptures.

My friends would probably be seeing each other after eons,

Thinking about the parties we had under lights and neons.

I hope they remember the times we laughed at our lives,

I hope they remember the coffees and the long drives.

I hope they pick up on memories from the mind so bleak,

I hope they reminisce and smile when they speak.

The sermon might not interest them nor the flowers at my feet,

I hope they don’t fight, no matter when we meet.

My wife would be holding on to the kids and weave the story.

The story of how their father basked in love’s glory.

She would tell them how we met and how we fell in love,

She would go on about how we fit like a hand in glove.

She would tell them how much I hurt when I made mistakes,

She would go on about the times we burnt them at the stakes.

She would tell them what a father I chose to be,

She would go on saying, the children were my life’s key.

She would tell them how truly I loved them,

How much I held them and fed them.

How I felt at their first cry and their first words,

How I showed them the sun and the morning birds.

Just as the preacher utters his final few lines,

A friend would rise up and slowly walk towards the blinds.

The man who stood beside me through ages and strife

Would now be standing at the pulpit to talk about my life.

He would take out a sheet of paper, folded in half,

Crumpled by its looks and attached to my photograph.

He would mention the person that I was and the love that I gave,

He would utter the names of all the lives I did save.

He would talk about the man that I was and the friend that I am,

He would declare that my love was never a sham.

My eulogy would be read out aloud over speakers to the world,

Giving them clarity about the lines that were to unfold.

His tears would soak the disfigured sheet of paper,

Building up his speech to be an icebreaker.

Mentioning the songs I sang and the girls I sang them for,

The times I went on stage and was asked for an encore.

Let him tell the world how love changed my life and changed it whole,

Let there be no one who does not know, not a single soul.

“Place your trust in love and it will shine,

Shine across the earth and the galaxies on cloud nine.

Share it with your friends, shower them on your family,

Give it to strangers, just don’t give it away irrationally.

He knew how to hold and knew how to hug,

He angered like a baby but loved like a thug.

His love was consuming, it could bridge severed bonds,

His love made you excited like spells from multiple wands.

He loved to the ends of the earth, everyone he set his heart on,

He loved like a child and now he is gone”

Let him leave the altar with a smile on his face,

Let him know I am now resting in one place.

Let him realize what he has done for his friend,

Let him know we still have time to spend.

Let him walk down towards me and take one last look

Let him understand my life was just another storybook.

Teak wooden coffin with brass bolts and a cross,

Never will one see this kind of beauty at a loss.

Not a single tear to be shed as they carry me across,

Across the hard wood floors and lay me down on the moss.

Six men to hold me, Six minutes to frown,

Six bolts to close shut and Six nails beat down.

Six Hymns for God and Six heaps at the burial mound,

Six ropes to bind my coffin as I am laid Six feet underground.

Six men to lower the ropes, holy water to purify,

With every dropping inch, I hear their deafening cry.

Tears that I have wiped with my hands now continue to roll down,

All the faces that look onto me, only seem to frown,

My children, by blood or by love, they wail at the loss of their father,

I hope I made sure I gave them all the courage they can gather,

My wife weeps at the loneliness she now stares at,

She must recognize, my love for her will keep swinging around like an acrobat.

My family and cousins, if they stick around, would recollect,

The memories we shared and the bucket list we checked.

My friends they sob, grieving for the one that is lost,

Wanting to go back to their kin, the ones they have tossed.

I see the sand, falling upon my nose and sliding off my cheek,

The light that I perceive becoming fainter and weak.

Their hands refuse to let it fall, their fingers contract and hold on,

They do not want to believe that I am now gone.

Bodies turn around and visages begin to fade,

I can hear the footsteps on the ground and through the grass they wade.

You must let me go dear ones, I am now in the beyond,

I know not where I come from and I know not where I will spawn.

I will live on in your memories and your thoughts,

Go now to the bar and dunk a couple of shots.

Numb the tears and end the pain,

Celebrate my surviving love or else, it is in vain.

Do not scorn upon me for leaving so soon,

Do not forget me when you dine with fork and spoon.

Do not frame me for unfinished duty,

Do not leave me out when you look at the sea’s beauty.

Keep me in your hearts and rest me in your mind,

Show me a small room, I shall use what I find.

Call out to me when you think of me, I will come,

Give you a hug and pour you some rum.

I will give you peace and set your troubles free,

Think of my smile and know that I won’t flee.

Don’t ask me if I am gone or where I would be,

I have nowhere else, I am no absentee.

Set a plate for me at the dinner table,

Pour a glass of wine when mother recounts a fable.

Think of the love I’ve given, it wasn’t free.

I’ve given it at the cost of my troubles, not one or two or three.

I began to love from the moment it showed itself to me,

While stargazing, enjoying the breeze and listening to the sea.

In dark places and through gloomy shadows you may walk,

My love will support you; I stand like Obsidian rock.

My love knows no bounds, it knows no gender,

It cannot even hurt, the ever-present daily offender.

Think of me when you see a smile or a holding hand,

No matter where you think of me, beside you I will stand.

Think of me when you see the setting vermillion sun,

I will be nowhere else; I am not going to run.

I will use the breeze to wrap around you,

I will use the stars to watch over you,

I will be your ever beating heart,

I will never be pulled apart.

I will come again to you in the flesh, ever so mild,

In the happiness of a stranger or the joy of a child.

My love for you will never disappear,

I was, I am and will always be here.

By Izhar Vinson Iyapillai