There is a gentle breeze that caresses
The floating bodies on Ganga
Setting them in a wavy dance
Below an overhanging sky.
These past men and women had sailed
Down the river for days, relieved of their
Struggles for breath, enjoying the rocking
Flow reminiscent of mother’s love.
Having died, they bear no regrets
Not to have been laid to rest.
Having died, they are still home
For tiny lives that can kill the living.
From an aesthetic distance
The bodies on the breast of Ganga
Are so many water-lilies
That can be offered to the country gods.
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