To the Pall bearers!
An ash coloured cat that was fond of me
shall follow…
No! don’t shroud my face please ;
Let me have but one last glance of my neighbours…
My kin, let them take a look after I’m forgotten…
Let the Murraya (curry leaf) tree bid adieu-
Will it rain? Let the rains drench me like in childhood
The pigeon on the window sill shall also get soaked…
My desk bearing the warmth of my elbows, and a half- read book
shall miss me .
My pen remains open, waiting for the unwritten poem
on a blank leaf of paper
now like a deserted carnival ground ....
A siris blossom may fall onto my forehead
if the wind cares to remember…
The hearse reeking of preceding passengers
awaits impatiently at the doorstep;
Stop! Don’t recite the Gita!
Can’t take another battle!
And no flags please;
Its all about surrender.
Let the flames of another world
Blaze on the shores of Yamuna;
Can’t bear to be scorched beyond death.
The burning embers before moving on to another body;
mutters, “ my earthly sojourn was not too bad…
Perhaps I shall stop by again”…
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