Tuesday, 12 June 2012

Cold Cold Heart

Oh! dear sister she cried
Sipping any of the last whisky left
Embracing her youngest child
She wailed louder and louder

Death is never easy especially that of your own...
Whether she was a deaf or a mute
She would always be her own flesh and blood
With barely any communication
They spoke with just hand signals
For today she no longer exists

Leaving behind 9 family members
From a remote place in khasadrapchu
Poorer than the poorest
They begged for asylum
And aid for their crematory rites...

The monks had no compassion
Nor did they have any empathy
The poor were treated like pebbles
Even the Rituals were hurried
This defied the purpose of Buddhism
And my heart felt like it was staying behind...

So as I left the crematory grounds
I promised Asha to be back!