Asthi-kalasha-
The asthi-kalasha hanging by
Is of my mother.
A day before had been she,
But today is she not,
Dead and gone by.
Just a handful of ashes,
Bones and body burnt to ashes,
The remains lie collected in.
A small earthen pitcher-like urn,
Containing in her earthly and bodily remains,
Of the mother gone by.
Opening the door at midnight,
Under the starry skies
And the twinkles above,
I see the kalasha hanging by.
But the mother is not,
She has already passed away, departed for,
But her bodily remains
Lie in hanging by.
The navel which kept burning
Like an earthen lamp
And burnt it not
Lies therein.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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