The Last Rite

Said the chief monk, ‘It`s time
for pan wadeema now…’

We, her grand-children, drew closer,
As my father set right,
The upended cup,
On the white plate.

As the monks,
Seated opposite the coffin,
Enwrapped with a white-cloth,
Water spouted out,
From the porcelain jug,
Held over the cup,
By all of us.

It slowly filled,
And water brimmed over,
Into the plate,
Where it rested.

Water:
The ever-young, the ever-fluid,
The ever-abundant, the ever-lasting;

What has it to do with life?

I wondered and wondered.

The Cortege

“…Let the lamp affix its beam…”
Wallace Stevens -  The Emperor of Ice-Cream

The cortege left our home,
In undignified haste.

The coffin rested in peace,
On six uneven shoulders:
Two at the head,
Two at the feet,
Two in the middle.

The bearers, it seemed to me,
Walked and talked,
Sans the slightest semblance,
Of solemnity, civility,
Or propriety.

They teased us into spelling,
Two of the six,
And poked fun at me,
As I walked like a crab,
Under the unfamiliar dead-weight.

Amid jokes, laughter and fun,
No one even pretended,
To bemoan the departed.

What a grave affront to the deceased!

But, they were right, perhaps.

Grief couldn`t set up a hut,
Dig a grave or bear a coffin;

And the dead was dead.

Death

The kerosene lamp,
A small bottle of pesticide,
Fitted with a tin ipia and a wicker,
Lit the living room,

Where the old man,
In the throes of death,
Lay on a torn grimy rush mat,
Spread over a limp coir mattress,
Upon a shakier bed,

Placed against the white-washed wall,
On the cracked cement-floor.

The burning wicker,
Fast sucked the shallow pool of oil,
And cast huge, ungainly shadows,
On the white-washed walls,
Which looked like the minions of death themselves.

The howling of invisible dogs in the streets,
Along with the ominous hooting of an invisible owl
Hung on the cold, nocturnal wind,
And brought home a dark presentiment,
Giving shudders to his wife, son and daughter,
Surrounding his bed.

He opened his eyes and coughed drily,
And the glow of the lamp suddenly brightened,

But it shrank into flicker,
As the dying man closed his eyes.

The pale light grew dimmer and dimmer still.

And went out.