I lived poor and died poor.
No obituary written
Nowhere a black flag fluttered
No one grieved
No bells tolled
No prayers recited,
To still my departed soul!
My body was wheeled in a hearse
With a few following
With hesitant steps
More as a custom than a gesture true
The open gates of the walled cemetery
Allowed a glimpse of the newly dug grave
In a remote corner it stood
Close to an overgrown hedge
Among many a mound
That bore no name on it
Oh, the indigent and the lonely
Are destined to huddle together
In death under the sod
With their identities merged
Into a single clan!
My body when swiftly lowered to the pit
And as everyone left to join the rage of life,
I pondered, how on this Earth
The distinctions of rank
Extend down unto dust
And follow one like a faithful mongrel
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.