The crows cawing,
Endless crows
Making a noise
And with the break of it
The devotees lined
In rows and queues
To enter the Great Temple
Of Jagannath.
Mainly the widows
Past the centre of their lives
Waiting to enter
With the eyes turned stone
And inner wish within to ask.
Barring to be delivered
From the bonds of life,
To be blessed
With moksha and nirvana
And this much, nothing more to ask for.
The lepers scrambling
As a mass
Lying defaced, nameless,
Beyond recognition
Telling of what it is existent here.
While on the other the solitary pyre
Burning on the sea beach
Adjacent to the temple
Into a smoky blaze
Trailing.
The mother’s wish also
To be cremated here
In the swargadwara
Swapping faith and doubt,
Just like frail light dazzling and falling.