POETRY

Grand buildings in Paris

They are made with limestone

So are many bridges, sidewalks

And city monuments

 

These stones quarried locally

Left huge empty spaces

Hidden far beneath the city streets

 

Underneath Paris

There is a network of subterranean

Chambers and passages

Extending hundreds of kilometers

From the Roman-era

 

Near the end of the 18th century

When real estate was scarce

While the cemeteries were full

Some of the quarries

Converted into a mass tomb

Turned into a depository

For the bones of dead Parisians

 

*          *          *

 

I walk up the metro exit

I cross the street

The entrance is there

To a portion of the catacombs

Officially open to the public

 

It is a black door

In a small green building

It is very un-assuming

It could easily be missed

If you blink while walking by

 

Flashlight in hand

I enter the building

Pay the entrance fee

I descend down

A long stone spiral staircase

I go down and down

Around and around

The temperature dropping

The light becoming dimmer

The lower I get

 

I go well under the city

Beneath the metro and the sewage

The many steps lead me down

To a small chamber

 

Leaving the chamber

I then go down a long dark tunnel 

I am now some 30 meters

Under the surface of Paris

It is very wet and damp

Icy cold water drips steadily

From the ceiling all around me

 

I am walking on wet gravel

Crushing and grinding them

Making crunching sounds

Soon I approach my destination

 

*          *          *

 

A sign on top of the doorway says

‘Stop – this is the empire of the dead’

But I go in anyway

It is truly another world

One of the strangest

Most stunning things

I’ve ever seen

It is indeed sublime

 

At first, I shuffle along

In amazement

I simply cannot believe

What I am looking at

I am immediately overwhelmed

Nothing in life so far

Has prepared me

For such a sight as this

 

The empty quarries are filled

With orderly piles of human bones

The skeletons are neatly stacked

They are aligned to form

The walls of walking passages

Nearly one kilometer long

 

Tibias and femurs

Stacked up by the thousands

Interspersed with rows of skulls

Sometimes arranged to form a cross

 

There are various other intricate designs

Arcs, valentine hearts, and other shapes

Made with bones throughout the tomb

 

They are often strangely decorative

Even oddly exquisite

As a tribute to so many dead

 

The meticulous care in the arrangement

It is an attempt to provide

Dignity and beauty to the deceased

For they were moved

From their resting places

In a less than respectful manner

 

There is often a row of skulls

In the middle of the walls

Another row topping it all off  

 

Many skulls are missing

All the bones below the cranium

 

Most skulls are missing

Their lower jaw bones 

 

I reach out and touch them

Their surface is very cold

I gaze into eyeless sockets

It is truly fascinating

 

*          *          *

 

Here the catacombs are at their wettest

The constant drip slowly forming

Small puddles on the floor

Stalactites on the ceilings

It is gluing all the bones together

Giving them a shiny glaze

 

The whole place is of course very eerie

Yes, it is ghastly and ghoulish

It is very quiet and dark

 

The only noise comes from

The sounds of water dripping

The whispers of tourists

 

The only light is from

The dim floodlights

Handheld flashlights

And camera flashes

 

The catacombs smells

Very musty and moldy

It is airless, stale, and stuffy

 

*          *          *

 

In many ways

This place is depressing

It makes me think about death

My own death

Death of my loved ones

 

It is a reminder

Death is always chasing us

It is only a few steps behind

But inevitably one day

It will catch us all

 

Nevertheless, it is hard not to be moved

And in some sense touched

By the sheer mass of dead humanity

 

I stop and remind myself

These people all had lives

Connections, loved ones, and names

Every one of them was a person

Felt pain and pleasure

Wanted to be happy and loved

 

Some were very intelligent

They lived interesting lives

There must be poets, philosophers

Artists among these remains

I imagine some of them

Were probably brilliant and unique

 

What can not be missed is

The bones of these millions of people

Are all much the same

 

In this place

The skull of an aristocrat

May be resting calmly

On the leg bones of a revolutionary

Or the other way around

 

Here rich and poor, young and old,

The fool and the wise, man and woman

All are indistinguishable and intertwined

It reminds me that in death then

We are all very equal

 

There are many Latin and French

Epigrams, dictums, and poems everywhere

Making keen and often

Paradoxical observations

 

One of them says:

You are a fool to assume

You will live a long time

Indeed, you can not be sure

If you’ll make it through today

 

My favorite reads:

Do not fear death,

But fear the inadequate life

 

Another in the same vain:

People, go after your dreams

Seek lofty aims and aspirations

For the world is transitory

It is over all too soon

 

I think that

Seeing the catacombs

It is not something

I will be able to forget

Nor would I want to

--Rotterdam, Netherlands