by Sneha Subramanian Kanta
(Mumbai, India)
Her neck, once laden with the sandalwood power
is now barren; clad with nothingness
as her withered body is laid on the white muslin cloth
an array of people standing listless, machine like
waiting for ‘it’ to be taken and cremated
the son of the nearby shopkeeper
suddenly stops by at the door to ask what happened
and on his enlightenment, exclaims,
“oh, she always brought me books…” and wails
the string of relatives touch her feet
one by one
and then silently whisk her away to what would
soon become - -
her final journey
Comments for Sad Demise
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