Asthi-kalasha,
With the asthi-kalasha in hands
The spirit going to do pinda-dana,
The bereaved soul on a pilgrimage
To immerse the kalasha, the urn
Containing bhashma
Into the holy waters,
Just a handful of
Bodily ashes,
Of bones and flesh
To be immersed in.
Asthi-kalasha,
I saw the asthi-kalasha of my father
Hanging by the peepul tree
Just by the banks of the river
Where stood it the hamlet
Wher I was born,
Under the sparkles and twinkles
Of the stars
Burnt I one day,
Asking the gods to help,
But came they not.
Again saw I mother dying before,
Prana coming out,
Life wailing for survival,
Whom burnt I in the garden,
Saw her turning ashes and coals,
The same mother who reared me,
Made me grow affectionately
And the situation was as thus,
The asthi-kalasha hung it
By the bamboo pole,
But mother was not one night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem