The lamp burning with orange tint
Has spread the gloriole around her head,
The burning smell of the lamp merged
With the strong smell of incense sticks,
Releasing the tiny trail of white smoke
Resembling the locks of Medusa.
Though the floor was icy cold, there laid her
Fragile body on the bare palm leaf mat,
Covered with the single white sheet
Who knew how much she shivered,
The gruelling silence around urged everyone
To pick up some talks in vain.
Resembling the moon, the pleasing
Form, decayed to the frail frame,
She was there helpless on the ground
Forgetting the venom she spate round after the round.
Who knew her enemies or friends, now,
All they came in a single row,
Were they paying the homage or
Was there a tiny smile on faces camouflaged!
They were all silent the friends and foes,
Death was the tool which brought them close,
The silent whispers how, when, why went on
Her soul was writhing in the cold breeze.
She was anointed with cold oil,
Washed with cold water,
Maybe her cold blooded thoughts made her strong,
The chanting of mysterious hymns in very low voices,
Merged with the silent cries of old women's helpless gang.
Sandalwood paste, small little jasmines, holy oil, the lamp
The incense sticks, the sinful sense of her life damp,
The end came like an eagle while the threaten, ailing
Were brandishing the knife of life
And queing up to have a last glimpse-was there a sigh of relief?
The strong man lit the pyre with trembling hands
The pleasing form, the moon like face brought down to ashes,
Only the cries and sobs
"Wait I'll chant all her posy" They turned their heads.
The threats, hatred, ill-wishes, jealous, the bad and the ugly
The disgusting points, sonnets and soliloquy.
The fire started burning, the flames higher and red
Reflected on their faces,
The reader threw books and papers into the pyre with holy grace!
Their tears dried with meaningful glances they all held their hands
together making the readers secure
Led her out of the cold dark sphere
Into the fertile, serene life of warmth.
Far from the red and orange flames, Grey black smoke
The mixed scents, the dust and night.
There it was, the life's happiness
The small family, a tiny house with green green green pasture around.
This is my second attempt at writing poems in my blog.
Has spread the gloriole around her head,
The burning smell of the lamp merged
With the strong smell of incense sticks,
Releasing the tiny trail of white smoke
Resembling the locks of Medusa.
Though the floor was icy cold, there laid her
Fragile body on the bare palm leaf mat,
Covered with the single white sheet
Who knew how much she shivered,
The gruelling silence around urged everyone
To pick up some talks in vain.
Resembling the moon, the pleasing
Form, decayed to the frail frame,
She was there helpless on the ground
Forgetting the venom she spate round after the round.
Who knew her enemies or friends, now,
All they came in a single row,
Were they paying the homage or
Was there a tiny smile on faces camouflaged!
They were all silent the friends and foes,
Death was the tool which brought them close,
The silent whispers how, when, why went on
Her soul was writhing in the cold breeze.
She was anointed with cold oil,
Washed with cold water,
Maybe her cold blooded thoughts made her strong,
The chanting of mysterious hymns in very low voices,
Merged with the silent cries of old women's helpless gang.
Sandalwood paste, small little jasmines, holy oil, the lamp
The incense sticks, the sinful sense of her life damp,
The end came like an eagle while the threaten, ailing
Were brandishing the knife of life
And queing up to have a last glimpse-was there a sigh of relief?
The strong man lit the pyre with trembling hands
The pleasing form, the moon like face brought down to ashes,
Only the cries and sobs
"Wait I'll chant all her posy" They turned their heads.
The threats, hatred, ill-wishes, jealous, the bad and the ugly
The disgusting points, sonnets and soliloquy.
The fire started burning, the flames higher and red
Reflected on their faces,
The reader threw books and papers into the pyre with holy grace!
Their tears dried with meaningful glances they all held their hands
together making the readers secure
Led her out of the cold dark sphere
Into the fertile, serene life of warmth.
Far from the red and orange flames, Grey black smoke
The mixed scents, the dust and night.
There it was, the life's happiness
The small family, a tiny house with green green green pasture around.
This is my second attempt at writing poems in my blog.
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