Unwritten Elegy
By Kevin kogo A young man was buried today in our village. He lived by the famous sword and died on the surgical table. His eulogy was short with half the pages filled with hymns. Birth, Christianity, death. Three paragraphs summarized his 31-year story. His father didn't attend the burial; his uncles came wearing long coats and gumboots. His mother, burying the second child, seemed defeated, maybe sorry, not sad. There were no speeches, just lectures and warnings. The sermon was hurried up; the pastor had other events scheduled. The soil was red and wet, the casket quite light, and the framed picture too grainy. His friends dug the grave, and his friends filled it up. His siblings stood longer by the grave. There were no flowers. His chapter had ended, and he didn't need roses, a public address system, or eulogies ... just rest.