For Dying Poem by Eila Mahima Jaipaul

come Brahmin, come
cut my locks
dust me with powder

or lime

wrap me in white.
my chasteness burns
as the body does
and I’ve been set here
to collect ash.

I look like my own ghost.

and feel lucky you came
from a far off place, to befriend me
as everything now has gone
leaving only past tense of living.

consoling myself
as those around me
sat quietly not knowing how,

I am in death, and it,
is on me