No Coffin, No Grave By Fared Angira

He was buried without a coffin without a grave the scavengers performed the post-mortem in the open mortuary without sterilized knives in front of the night club 6 stuttering rifles put up the gun salute of the day that was a state burial anyway the car knelt the red plate wept, wrapped itself in blood its master’s the diary revealed to the sea the rain anchored there at last isn’t our flag red, black and white? so he wrapped himself well who could signal yellow when we had to leave politics to the experts and brood on books brood on hunger and schoolgirls grumble under the black pot sleep under torn mosquito net and let lice lick our intestines the lord of the bar, money speaks madam woman magnet, money speaks madam we only cover the stinking darkness of the cave of our mouths and ask our father who is in hell to judge him the quick and the good. well, his diary, submarine of the Third World War showed he wished to be buried in a gold-laden coffin like a VIP under the jacaranda tree beside his palace a shelter for his grave and much beer for the funeral party anyway one noisy pupil suggested we bring tractors and plough the land.