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| Topic: Sati | |
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I hear my death knell,
The battle lost – I get ready to die. I have no more than a jiffy, To face my death; I see a thousand eyes, Prying my every move; I decorate myself with the best ornaments And the finest silk sari. I sense the armour of my fallen man shielding me I walk with all my grace to the open And join a thousand others who’re befallen my fate. I close my eyes and picture the arrow that pierced my husband's flesh I jump into the raging fire amidst wild screams. I recall the sparkle in my man’s eyes when we married: Ecstasy. I open my eyes and see the fire’s still eating into my flesh. I close it shut and picture my man’s valour: Pride. I pray to be welcomed by my man in the world I’m going: Hope. I’ll not be captured in the land that felled my man, the world I am leaving: Sati. PS: Sati was an ancient Hindu practice where the widow would voluntarily/forcefully kill herself jumping into the funeral pyre of the husband. |
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powerful write. nice job!
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powerful write. nice job! Thanks! |
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I hear my death knell, The battle lost – I get ready to die. I have no more than a jiffy, To face my death; I see a thousand eyes, Prying my every move; I decorate myself with the best ornaments And the finest silk sari. I sense the armour of my fallen man shielding me I walk with all my grace to the open And join a thousand others who’re befallen my fate. I close my eyes and picture the arrow that pierced my husband's flesh I jump into the raging fire amidst wild screams. I recall the sparkle in my man’s eyes when we married: Ecstasy. I open my eyes and see the fire’s still eating into my flesh. I close it shut and picture my man’s valour: Pride. I pray to be welcomed by my man in the world I’m going: Hope. I’ll not be captured in the land that felled my man, the world I am leaving: Sati. PS: Sati was an ancient Hindu practice where the widow would voluntarily/forcefully kill herself jumping into the funeral pyre of the husband. Thank you for sharing. Each day feels closer to that fire, Though I would not sacrifice my breathing that way. Alone is enough of a death. Some moments, days, minutes, seem longer than some. Still, I breathe and with thanksgiving. He dies his own, I live, alone. s |
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