Unity Of the Elements

 

 

It was a pompous show,

For everyone should know,

The funeral procession

Of a rich man of the town.

 

Inch by Inch, the funeral cart moved.

Step by step, the mourners walked.

In black costumes, each one was dressed.

Front and back, march passed the crowd.

 

At the gate of the burning ghat,

The procession came to a halt.

Each one spoke, in praise of the dead

And tears flowed, for what they said.

 

On the sandalwood bed,

The body was laid,

And his son lit the fire,

That engulfed the funeral pyre.

 

The dead man's remains,

In the form of ash and bones,

To the sea, were consigned

As a finish, at the end.

 

At the bottom of the seabed 

The bone of a poor man dead

Addressed his bone and said

"Welcome to this silent seabed."

 

"The difference, when we were alive

Is no more with us, now let us live,

Not as poor or rich, but as one element,

No hatred feelings to foment."

 

From the elements, man comes,

And back to the elements, he goes.

In between arises a low-high status,

That brings a world of differences.