Towards afternoon,

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,

delved deep,

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.