Tag Archives: grave

Last Home: A Story by Dr.Syed Md. Zainul Abedin

This is a grave at the Azimpur graveyard.Thousands of people throng the graveyard to pray and show love to their deceased relatives and friends specially on the major festivals.Some of them place flowers, flower wreaths,bouquets and flower petals and foliage on the grave site of their beloved persons.
They also place incense and agar sticks.In the night candles are lit by some too.They pray for the deceased peoples. Some carry religious books to recite.Some pious peoples are around to recite and leading prayers. The atmosphere of the graveyard becomes very sacred and solemn during this time.The graveyard may be compared with a managed garden where lots of flower and ornamental plants are planted by the relatives of the departed peoples.Besides many forms of insects particularly wonderful butterflies,bees and bugs are seen in plenty there.Birds also visit the place to add to the beauty.
I love to visit the graveyard because I know that it is my last home.The same graveyard is the last home of my grand parents,my parents and many near and dear ones.I feel a great sense of reunion with my favorite ones during my stay in the graveyard.

(Written to describe a photograph of a grave in a graveyard published in Flickr.You can visit the following link to see the photograph in www.flickr.com:http://www.flickr.com/photos/[email protected]/4980225380/)

The Farmhouse – A Poem of Syed Zainul Abedin

The farmhouse is lively in the serene December,
The music of the victory is humming everywhere.
The farmer feels no fatigue in arranging the festival,
Disappeared all troubles and blood freezing fear.

It was a very hard time just the other day,
The demons plundered the paddy of the farm.
Hundreds of the farmers’ sons lost their lives,
Housewives embraced death of honour to resist harm.

The farmhouse turned elated with joy once again,
Million names,blood and sweat are now events of the past.
Hills of paddy swelled up in the farmyard,
Jubilant butterflies and swans move around fast.

The farmer’s innocent son sits beside the grave of his mother,

Weeps fearlessly placing fresh flowers in her honour.