We stumbled into the cemetery. Unknowing fools.. of the significance of the event we were to witness. The wind blew around us, keeping us cold, yet alert. Picking us up every time we slowed down.
And in the darkness, amongst graves of different sizes and shapes, whose silhouettes we saw: tall, short, ornate, simple, there were people buried. Sometimes far too early for their time. Little boys and girls or young pregnant women with husbands away at war suddenly found themselves trapped under rubble. Only a moments warning was issued by the air raid sirens. And then, they were trapped away forever.
Their souls lingered around us that night. Whispering in our ears about lost loves and childhood homes. And as we walked on, voices emerged from the darkness, telling us tales, crying out about the horrors of war, of death and sometimes even of life without a loved one.
As we traversed through the stony path with candles shielded by lamps to guide us, we saw the sheer numbers that lay down. One beside the other beside the other. Whole families, babies and the old. And the young men who martyred their loves and lives at war.
As we wandered deeper into the cemetery engulfed by the melancholic tunes in the distance, we began to wonder, why is it that we repeat our mistakes over and over? Why don’t we put an end to the horrors of war… of loss. Maybe its because we’ve stopped feeling, its because we’ve left our souls behind…