I had been burning my mother
In the backyard of my house,
Trying to bathe and make her wear new
As far as possible,
Making her sit somehow,
Placing over the pyre
And lighting the fire.
The nirgunis were playing the harmonium
And the cymbals being stricken
And they singing
While on the other the smokes rising from the body,
Fire flames feeding upon the limbs
And it taking time.
While on the other the cremators giving Hari bols,
Burning and poking the fire into a blaze,
Drinking and burning
With the Hari bols,
Hari bol, Hari bol, bol Hari bol.
At some stage saw I burning it the navel
Just like a lamp,
The thing with which lies it connected
The navel burnt it not completely,
Later to be collected and put in the asthi-kalash
With other ashes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem