The pyres have been lit;
Like warning beacons, I say;
Yellow fire, on broken wood,
Wherein COVID victims lay.

They are wrapped in plastic;
No loved ones, no flowers;
Tired strangers have lit the fires,
They’ll burn but for a few hours.

“Sadgati!” Bhakts say, “not peace!”
They ignore the dead who died,
They replace love with hate,
They worship those who lied.

The pyres have been lit.
No oxygen brought their death.
Bodies light up like lanterns,
They were denied their last breath!

The gods must yet be appeased;
So rallies and melas abound;
We wait for the third phase now;
And the count of pyres in the coming round.