The mourners weep
Even in the deep of the night
The day breaks
Even in the silence of the night
The bereaved wakes
Even from the pain of bereavement
The day reminds all…the remnants
Of a life blown away
And blown out…out of sight
II
A dirge solemnly stirs our sadness
In a melancholic display of solemnity
A dirge stretches the memory of the dead
Into a state of melancholy
Into a place called Eternity
When a dirge reports the calling
Of the famous hero
To the glory of his Highness
When a dirge hums the passing
Of his Lowness
Into oblivion
The dead dares not know
The distinction between the high and the low…in the earthly class of distinction
When a dirge flows
From the sound of the native drum
…Fontonfrom
And from the loud thumping
On the Atumpan
When a dirge sounds the will of death
To send a chill down the spine of the dead
From the encompassing thrill
Of the Ateteben
The death of the dead
Will sound everywhere
The living makes for the dead…a dirge
A dirge makes for the living…a living
The dead takes to a dirge
As a dirge takes to poetry
