The Seed of Life and Death

I hear the chanting of hymns and the cymbals sound as they lay you on the ground
covering your body with layers of sand

and offering in your maidam flowery garland.

The Sun every morning will gently kiss

and I will, like a dry river-bed, miss

the water that pumped life
into the mortal veins of my life.
The seed to lead a life of solitude now grows in my womb
and a tiny, green leafy plant by the side of your tomb.