Ashes

smeared on bathed foreheads-

In the morning

with sunlight streaming in through windows and every crack in the doors and walls,

when the house is half asleep --

a quick bucketful hauled and poured hurriedly by shivering hands at the backyard well

then prayers mingle with frankincense

in the puja room

with framed gods for walls...

Ashes

in the large pits -

remnants of sacrifices

propitiating gods for favours

children, jobs, wealth and health

where the devout bend in obeisance and then anoint their foreheads.

Ashes

offered in temples by priests as benediction

received with humility in the right palm

packed carefully by some in paper rolls

Or discarded by some in the pillar shafts

that grime the artwork over time...

Ashes

A fight for a cup

played by countries far removed

- the ruler and the ruled

the commentary streaming through BBC

On a raspy radio

my father- stands the entire time close to the window

hearing through the noise visualizing every move of bat and ball.

Ashes

when leaves fall trembling in the breeze

 Scatter wantonly for bored boys to kick and mime at football

the gardener gathers all with a sigh

trussed in woven baskets

and burnt in a corner of the yard...

Ashes,

by the moonlight,

A huge bonfire lit,

as we school children sat around,

played games, sang songs,

till we fell in exhausted heaps as the fire died down

and the morning breeze spattered ashen cinders on cold faces.

Ashes

that mark the final journey

where we all travel alone --

a fire lit one last time

to consume and swallow

the smouldering fire that once burnt in our bellies...