A Modern Funeral
Poem - by Ngo Binh Anh Khoa
In the spacious burial site
Filled with artificial trees
With leaves that move unnaturally
And cybernetic insects
Programmed to mimic the buzzes
And cries of those that once lived,
A coffin with metallic legs crawls forth,
Its exterior sleek and devoid of any
Other symbols or features,
Just like every other of the same model
And price tag.
Adding to the somberness of the event,
The mechanical flowers blossom,
Decorating the drooping branches above and
The bed of neon-green grass blades underfoot,
Their pearly whiteness a glaring touch
Against the backdrop.
Per requested, particles are released into the air,
Slowly conjuring up a light autumnal shower,
Further turning the proceedings into something
One may see in a clichéd movie scene.
Uncaring of the wetness on its shell,
And unerring in its preordered course,
The spidery coffin steadily
Makes its way toward the dug grave,
Where the undertaker is stationed nearby,
Clutching the shovel as it is built to do,
Awaiting the signal to fulfill
Its sole purpose in existence.
I watch everything unfold alongside my family,
To pay our last respects to our grandmother.
We are present, but at the same time
Not fully so,
For all of us are holograms,
Glitchy and wispy and ashen gray,
While our true selves are some light-years away,
Scattered across the galaxies in the universe.
On this day, the family gathers together in spirit
To escort our late matriarch
To her final resting place,
Sparing a few minutes of our time to bear witness
To the service we had arranged.
The coffin, still uncaring, still unerring,
Eventually reaches the destination
And lowers itself down,
as carefully as its joints allow,
The impact lessened by the bed of grass below.
As timed,
Every sound goes dead;
Every color becomes muted,
Except for the whiteness of the flowers,
Which shine like little stars
In the descending curtain of darkness.
The sounds of crying begin.
The first hologram sniffles.
And another cries.
And another joins in.
And another.
And another.
The noises fuse together,
Forming a cacophonous symphony in the air
As a 3D photo albums and video clips sharing
Snippets of grandmother’s life are displayed
For all to see.
No obituary is read.
No speech is made.
No sutra is chanted.
Only the cries of mourning
Haunt the gravesite
As the black box goes underground
And disappears from sight.
As the seconds tick away,
The holograms of the teary-eyed attendees
Slowly dissipate, fading like mist dispelled
By the shafts of dawning sunbeams.
I see my aunts and uncles and cousins and siblings
Fade away, leaving my avatar alone
In this pristine graveyard for a while longer,
Watching till the undertaker finishes inputting
Grandmother’s epitaph onto
The blue touchscreen hovering above her grave.
A funeral has always been a somber affair,
Especially in this day and age,
And yet, everything is done so efficiently
That it is over before you know it,
Unlike the ones back in the olden days,
Tediously long and full of traditions.
A modern funeral indeed,
Where the closest thing to life in this site
Is the decomposing body swallowed by the earth
Amid the cries of ghosts and wails of specters
Rooted to the alien soils some light-years away
From home.