Zoroastrian Death Rights Poem by Rebekah Gamble

The Tower of Silence stands tall.
The concept of keeping the elements pure
certainly appeals to me.
Keepers of the Flame
are to me a strange people,
but hardly beyond understanding.
I think of the carcass
hung in that tower
and imagine myself
hung there, rotting, but conscious
of the black birds
tearing at my flesh
piece by bloody piece.
It is like justice
in my eyes.
Of course, to me,
the sacred earth has always been
far more important
than the pompous ego of mankind.