Pyre on the wrong soil
R.N.Pokharel
I heard of his death.
News of his no more,
Scattered my long awaited dream,
Questioners prepared for him
Remained unrequited.
Oh doer!
Damn your cruel deed,
A pearl is no more.
I met him on his stolid pyre.
How unlucky?
What a neglected soul?
Pyre on wrong soil!!
Sobbing kiths and kins
With unuttered words of obituary
Coupled with soothing condolences,
Simply witnessing;
The scene of malaise.
The foul smell from the pyre,
Ignited my olfactory nerve
Sensitized my cerebrum.
And, I anticipated
The fate of survivors.
The smoke mingled with docile clouds,
Innocent flow of rivers near by
Carried him in ash.
But;
The soul!
His age-old earned privation,
His deed on his land,
His unfulfilled dreams,
Resounded in my mind.
Who will punish the doer?
If no hands extended,
His soul be returned
A nascent history,
‘Pyre on wrong soil’ be written.