On a burial day
May is the cruellest month, accursed
Smell of mephitic, acerbity in the dead land
Flesh, memory burn in the sky.
I know you are in pyre in the dead land
And our tuneful reflective song in mend.
Together we have cried an ocean of tears,
As we feel so jannock and hold my fears.
I’ll know it is your soul,
saying goodbye to our love.
But spirit will be rest,
And birds chirping in their nest.
I know it is you assuming me
you are free from pain.
When I see a storm in my road away
I know it is you to stop me
When I hear the rain pitter patter
I hear your words of wisdom for me
to stop in an inn to spred love
And will remember what you taught.
S Gorachand Reddy@copy right