On the riverbank, there are half burnt
Firewood, an old pillow, a tattered quilt
And a broken terracotta pot
All spread out all over the place.
Four bamboo sticks are at four corners,
Still burning with smoke.
The water from the river flows and it washes
All the charred firewood left,
And it soaks the torn quilt and pillows.
Only, the body is not there.
Those who watched the cremation
— Have also left.
So, the wind starts to blow
In the dark of the night
Crying for the deceased.
i like this poem............ i enjoyed it too............. really it is good one keep it up
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice poem........i like it i enjoyed it......... keep it up
Thank you