Thoughts from a crematorium

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A poem... Written while waiting at a crematorium.

You see a dirty floor

I see a vulnerable

young girl

cradling the head

of her dead father

unable to look at me

unable to speak

or even cry.

 

She tries to find solace

in the Gita

someone thrust

into her hands

the words swim

as, wide eyed, she reads:

"Thou grievest

where no grief should be."


I want to reach out

to that girl

from long ago

the one whose heart

is breaking

the one who's wearing

her grief

like a new cloak.

 


I want to tell her

that she will return

to this spot again and again

and it will be alright

to grieve

and that cloak she will always wear

from long ago

will be made of the purest light.

 

 

 

 

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