The Departed

The Departed

Laala Kashef Algahta

There's a bed that is cool.
The windows are open
and the spring air
lounges about lazily.
There has been tragedy here.

The sheets are folded back,
waiting. Waiting for
something inevitable.
It would take time,
it's been forty days
and it has yet to happen.

There's a bed that is lonely,
its long-time occupant
departed. I wonder if
his ghost smiles into the quiet
of the empty room.
The air shivers, and settles.

There's a bed, a room,
in a house full of life.
The bed was weighed down
with death, the room with a soul.