Metamorphosis Poem by O Sudhir Janardhanan

The clock does not chime the time.
The one legged pigeon after long, hops
onto my sill. A guttural sound
as it impatiently walks around
mournfully glancing into my world.

I stand transfixed, in crossfire
of conflicting emotions, leaning
heavily on sadness built on a dream.
Today, I did desire to be buried.
Yesterday, I yearned to be cremated.
They piled me on my dreams.
A pyre of my hopes they made
Dry cinder it burned rapidly.
Burnt, my ashes glow cold.

They still feared the corruption I could induce
So they obscured my ashes under rubble.
But, e'en in death, thoughts live on
A germ, it endures and slowly grows.
Into what, nobody knows not.