The Funeral Pyre Poem by Anuj Tikku

The funeral pyre
The body burns with it's own fat
The whiff and smell of burning flesh
As the ghee is poured on the pyre
And the first son lights the fire
As the pundit chants the mantra's aloud
The vultures gather around looking very proud
The crackle of the timber wood
The body burns away as it should
The ghats radiate with a sudden light
Some soft some bright
The maha arti's oh what a sight
The humming and buzzing of the bells
As the urchin's bathe by the side of the wells
The aghodi's go into their dance
Watch as they on the dead begin their trance
The smoke of chillum's fills the air
After smoking it the sadhu's say a prayer
The pungent smells of aggarbati's, burning diya's and grass
Oh it's a traveler let him pass
The long line of kavadiya's they descend
As they take a road that straightens and then bends
The naked naga's holding their trishul's begin their walk
As neighbors stop at tea shops to talk
The meditation of the saint it begins
To stop looking outward but with in
To search the ocean with in us all
The meditation is one hell of a ball
The night descends the pyre is cold
The shamshaan keeper washes the ash and collects the bones
To store them in an earthen pot
So that they are not left to rot