The parade begins once again
Frantic phone calls,
Teary voices,
That cry for one’s own loss
And the struggles that the morrow holds
Formalities of dotted lines
Where one consents to leave behind
A sizeable chunk of notes,
Lest one gets lost in the surreal world
Of death and her angels.
The embalmed remains arrive,
Carried with callous care,
By masked care givers
For whom death begets life.
Others watch,
For a moment forgetting
Their own anxieties
Wondering if they too will cry.
The parade leaves for a brief stop,
Home.
Where bangles are broken
And vermillion wiped away
For the last time.
Rituals come.
People visit.
Rituals get done.
People cry.
And still the finality of it all
Refuses to sink in
Until an old memory is uncovered
From the depths of an old locked cupboard
Tears pour
Stop.
Pour again.
Stop.
And life moves on.
