The body burnt to ashes and coals
And it remained not anything else to be
Said own,
Everything but went off,
Turned into
Just the asthi-kalasha lay it hanging
By the peepul tree
On the river-bank
With the navel and the ashes
To be immersed into the holy waters
And thereafter started the process of pinda-dana,
As for the shantih of the bereaved soul,
The spirit flown off,
The maya’s body still breaking,
Memories and reminiscences making them break down
To feel what it remained, lay
As the remnant,
A memoir and a memento to be
Of the dead and gone away,
The traveller from the distant.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem