When I will die
Take me to my ancestral house
Lay my body like a doll
Just down below the Tulsi-Manch
Wash my face and feet with Gangajal.
Cover my body with white cloth
Scatter white flowers over it
Burn incense, the fragrance grower
And allow people for last visit
At least for an hour.
Let my daughters, sisters and nieces
carry my body with tears
up to the hearse waiting towards south
Let my son give a kiss on forehead
instead of putting 'ritual fire' in my mouth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem