Trumpet Sounds

Once you have been created you travel from phase to phase. Life doesn't end it continues in the grave.

Singularly, in this place beyond time and space, there is an after life.

Like a vestibule the grave is a phase or stage before our final eternal life.

A barrier world, a partition that no one eludes, an abode where all are bound with no exit, no escape.

All residents will be interned within the belly of this earth. The Earth from which we were made.

For a period they will be with family and other deseased members in their new subterranean community.

For some there will be no light, no spaciousness, no comfort and no forgiveness to be found,

Tortured in their graves for disobedience to their Lord and their wicked evil deeds emitting horrifying screams

Indubitably bound until the angel's trumpet does sound.

Habib Abu Lateef

Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Trumpet Sounds