There are always more bones

another country
third world or different world
a landscape of bones
heaps and piles of bones
most broken
burned dull white
high contrast
no whole bones
broken fragments
broken pieces
everything being reduced to dust
no many souls around
sense of an end place
existential hell
I am walking along a narrow path
heading to a mausoleum structure
in the distance
no trees or grass or vegetation
a cart made of bone pulled by a mule
driven by an hooded figure
both covered in pale bone dust
clatters by
then stop at an empty intersection
the mules hooves
slide hollowly on the bone surface
they wait for a moment
then continue on
I walk to the mausoleum
inside are several people I know
sister, friend, ex-lover, companion
they are excited I am there
want to show me
the bones and skulls
that are intact and whole
a friend is talking about a skull
asks me about the Muslim call to prayer
Allāhu akbar
God is great
Lā ilāha illā-Allāh
there is no other God, but God
we talk about this
although I do not know Arabic
he wants to know how to pronounce this
and also asks me about
As-salatu Khayrun Minan-nawm
prayer is better than sleep
we are laughing
about how poor our Arabic is
my sister want to show me
a beautiful skull
chapless but not yet shattered
everything decays quickly here
everything turns to dust
but there are always more bones