Macchars don’t wear sweaters

Archive for September 2010


(this is another of my mothers poems which she wrote as a teen)

The thunders clap beneath the inky sky.

The winds howl in harmony with the jackals.

The sparkling waters of the Ganges leap high and higher.

The silvery waves slap the sandy shores.

This is the night –

the night which is destined to be.

Far across the drenched green fields

in the land of no lights

droops the snuffed candle grey and cold.

The flame that shone has gone out

sinking low every minute

flickering, fighting for breath

-till it met the wick

and then like the dying dolphin-

a glistenng hue-

a bright display of crackling spray.

And then darkness-Darkness which meets the eternities.

But nay-this is not the end.

Something remains.

Nay-all remains.What does not, was not anything.

The dust now is a part of dust.

But dust is mortal.

The divine in him has returned to the divine.

What was sent has been taken away.

Nay-called back to where it belongs


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