My Ego's Last Address Poem by Bishnupada Sethi

Countless and nameless birds
Rise up and go down
In perfect synchronisation
At the sight of prey
And pure joy
In flocks
Leaving no trace of travelled trajectories
Near the shoreline
Into the azure blue sky
Resplendent with several tinges
Of multiple colours
Against a setting Sun.

Those don't live together,
Yet at this dusk hour
The groups are formed
In near perfect cohesion
As if preprogrammed
And controlled remotely.

A small sandy patch of land
Interspersed with half burnt charcoals-
A gateway to heaven they say it provides.
You can call it as human's last address
We will appear here for the last time.
The wailings of groups of people
Rise up and fall intermittently,
Reach quite far away from there.
Yet the regular watchman
Doesn't hear any of those,
Not getting irked by the fumes and smokes,
At times taking the comfort
From the heat in the fire.
He has been a witness
To all the rites
When ego, flesh and bones
Of small and big ones are charred.
The names are struck off
From all the directories thereafter.