Questions for Lazarus

I’ve been waiting a long time, Lazarus,

In this little park across from your house

Here in a hamlet in Roman Palestine,

For you to send out a message

Saying the shock of returning to life

From the region beyond it has waned a little

And you’re willing at last to grant an interview.

By now you must realize I’m not interested

In getting a scoop for my paper,

That I’m acting as an agent for those with a pressing

Practical need to learn what they can

About the zone they will soon be entering.

Who else can I turn to but you, the only person

I know who’s returned from the famous bourn

From which no traveler ever returns

Except in myth, and then only rarely?

Think back, Lazarus, to your ignorance

When you set off into the void alone,

And you’ll understand why I want to ask

Whether the passage may be compared

To a dreamless sleep or to a dream

Bright enough for you to describe its setting.

If you had some light, did you find yourself

In a garden like this one, with benches

Circling a fountain, or in a desert?

If your dream was dark, and you heard a voice

Calling your name, would you describe it

As eager to answer questions about your past,

Whether, say, the life that you lived on earth

Was one of those you were meant to live,

And if not, was there reason for you

To have chosen it anyway? And when you found out

You would have to return to it for a while

Before you’d be allowed to go forward,

Did the voice explain why?

I know you may not be at liberty

To offer specifics, but can you say something

In general about how dying has altered

Your view of life? Would you say, for instance,

You look forward to dying again,

Now that you know what lies beyond it,

Or would you say that once was enough,

That you’d be interested in alternatives,

In outcomes, say, more festive than death

And more sociable, where stillness is only

One option among many, not our fate?