The fire was consuming him
On the bed of sacred sands;
Place twisted on layers of wood;
The body with bruises of old age,
Cold and frozen, lie suspended
Between curses and blessing of
Forgotten childhood, hopelessness;
The sacred thread is snapped
Between palms to kill identity;
All attachment to the mundane
Vanished as the pail is placed
Upon hearth of broken bricks
And fire is lit amid hushed tones;
A handful of rice is thrown over head
To the crow who has brought news
Of vein losing pulse in the wee hour;
Frigid eyes slip through gaps in layers
Of wood; with eyelids upturned he
Seeks a prayer for his lost progeny.
Frigid eyes slip through gaps in layers of wood very powerful imagery!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem. Frigid eyes slip through gaps in layers Of wood; with eyelids upturned he Seeks a prayer for his lost progeny. Excellent thought.