Thinking Of You

…keep thinking of you…
I don’t regret that you have left.
It’s just the way you did.

It’s not that I am bereft.
It’s not that I didn’t try.

It’s just that I was dying
And you, actually, did die.

Death by O2

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.

Strain

Sickness has taken over my house
And its roof and walls are rumbling;
People outside are dying too,
And the world beside is crumbling.

I strain to let go of bowels;
But there is no strength left to strain;
My body seems to give up;
I am weakened by all this pain.

Doctors can only do so much;
Medicines have all been tried;
Yet this feeble breath that rallies
Tells me soft, you have not yet died.