On My Mother's Death Poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri

While I was having my head shaved in her smoke
I asked why the hearse should have blown the siren
As we had gone about throwing flattened rice on her silence.
But, when she was alive, the van that took her
To draw a map of her brain’s electrical wiring
Had blown no siren at all on the crowded roads.
Later, in my complicated muslin cloth and ashes
I wondered why the river flowed in my mind and the road
When there were no rains in the Vindhya hills beyond.