Saturday, September 25, 2010

The Pyre

The Pyre

The melody of wedding spell
Echoes in the autumn wind.
Arabian perfumes smell
The bridal suit the cobweb like shaped,
Which the rustic guys have adorned.

Rose has lost its redness,
And turned golden now.
The groom in learnt forgetfulness
Hardly hears Sara’s anklets jingle,
But listens Apanna’s coins jingle.

As the darkness grows fat,
The doom the owl hoots.
Sleep the lamps of night.
Rats rattle the aluminium vessels,
Kept in the broken racks.

Covered the world with a torn blanket,
In a corner, the aged mother curled.
Sara burnt worn the anklet,
With love in her womb pressed,
As the kerosene smoke kissed the roof thatched.


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