The song of Anjaan Peer....dance of death

On the Steps ... of life 

I seem to remember some things 

of the past ...of the present and 

of the future....

My eyes are red...

just as were ..of the man 

in front of me..as I watch...

a swarm of flies

Look around ... its the place of dead

I say.. you've arrived..

dog brothers play with the child

and the boy does a somersault

for a dime...

the dead sleeps

the river flows...a mile away

and then it takes along with her

ashes....but memories stay

of the priest in warm cloths

of the many dead in queue

of the shaven heads

beaten breasts... the pyre 

 and ..longing lives 

back home

but then they speak of the dead

his life .. his deeds...

some say he was sane... some wise 

and some are in silence ...

grief is rare...pity the  life

and its play

the dead is deaf and the dead is indeed blind

The dead is numb and the dead is cold

how does it then matter...if the flowers are 

jasmine......or.. .marigold.

what a shame... 

life is .......at death..

wretched air....

carries all the soot 

and so she sobs for all things lost

under the veil

I cant see well

but am sure of her heart

and her eyes .... red
in tears...she beholds
a future unseen