A pyre is made there near
a river bank for the funeral of earth
in planks from one real wild
stormy forest and that fire engulfs
in agitated minds…..
It grabs earth from its roots of origin
and its wildness intolerable.....
Heaven and God watch from above
in disguise. …a saving grace
sure they lift earth in one
safe and secure axis..
no aisle needed in that sanctum..
and those cry for death traps
fail and walk back..
and it rains from heavens above
to tranquilize the fire.of one wild
forest........
June 21,2009
I can see the pyre.. it is wild and difficult to escape..people try out easy escapes.. victimise some one and place them on pyre....heaven watches for sure...10
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I would like to translate this poem
The funeral pyre is mortal body's destined end! The soul with its cycle of re-birth, evolves towards 'moksha'! For your poem 10! - Raj Nandy PS.You may like my poem at the end of page 4!