Dissipating vanity and wealth,
a pile of wood logs
ready to burn the silent cadavers.
People ruined deep in sorrow—
a culmination of pathos, long and mournful.
Bodies rest near the crematorium,
a picture of the grave spirit and soul,
the doorway of heaven or hell.
Assorted temples, nomadic monkeys, antique inscriptions,
The sacred banks of the Bagmati flowing beside.
Priests reciting “Mahamrityunjaya” mantras
from birth to death,
the grounds jam-packed with kith and kin.
Euphonious hymns drift,
With serene, aloof contemplations—
each from a different vantage point,
each knowing, soundlessly,
that all life must meet its end.
@Nirajan Bohara, MPhil Scholar
Kathmandu University
