my Grandma smeared the front yard,
with fresh cow dung, Its smell wafting off
all through the house.
I hid behind a stack of concrete well rings
my small sister counts out aloud, 1, 2, 3.
Later, when the sound of the conch resonated,
I ran towards it.
My mother said," You shouldn't go there,"
I insisted, until she promised me a chocolate.
Twenty years later,
I saw my Grandfather burn
in a pyre, along with the bank of ( name of River?) river.
And then the burning continued, of the known, and the unknown
so many have passed away since then.
One day, I suddenly became aware of death,
My days were a tangle,
a cobwebs of endless thoughts,
Today, as I think again
I let out a sigh, as
I lie down on the Veranda,
listening to the sound of a creek,
how the water meanders through the rocks?
and never returns, just like my life
a rudderless ship, in a vast turquoise sea.