One Day While Burning The Father Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

One day I had been burning my father
By the river,
Making him bathe
And change the dhoti and the kurta
On the river bed

Yea, one evening
I had been to the hamlet
To burn him,
One dark evening

Changing into the night time
With the dead body of his,
I mean the lifeless body of his
And with a light burning

Walking over the banks
Up and down
And the alleys zigzagged
Lining on

I under the open skies
Tired of all day journey
Sleeping by the pyre
And marking him

Consigned to the flames
Feeding upon,
The logs a-lit
And engulfing

The trails of smoke rising,
People telling life-histories,
Patriarchal and ancestral,
Hari bols renting the skies

But who is there to hear and reflect
Upon in that place,
Away from human haunt
And thinly populated

The cremators were poking into
And the blaze trailing
And taking on again,
Feeding upon

To finfish it all,
To finish it all
And remained it not anything else,
But fire, ashes and coals


Om shantih shantih shantih