Riding a Bike to Cross the Countryside.
Posted: 14 Mar 2020, 22:34
V2
"Biking Cross-Country"
We rode past a rubber plantation where
we couldn't breathe without inhaling the stench
--worse than burning tyres emitting smoke pipes.
My brother said, be sure you know what it is.
''This light that comes past the rubber trees is fire.''
And so I recalled the many names of after death.
The mode of disposing of mortal remains: ground burial,
cremation, leaving the dead in the hanging gardens for hungry
vultures, urn burials of long ago, combustion at the crematorium
-the instant crumbling and crushing for a packet-full of ash.
The smoke forked its way in between the rubber trees to escape.
"Only the human body can smell like that,"said my brother.
Appa had bought a six-by-three-foot piece of land
to build his cemetery. My brother corrected, "Not 'build,' but 'lay.’'
Tessa, a British poet, sought the "Nadi" palm-leaf oracle,
wanting to know the cause for her future death.
I thought, there is no charm in dying if you know
the when where how of it all. I said, "The whole beauty
about death is its unexpectedness." But Tessa was adament.
She had come to Tamilnadu in India solely for that.
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We went past a rubber plantation where the stench
had to be inhaled to breathe; worse than burning tyres
emitting fire-light. My brother said, be sure you know
what it is. And so I recalled the many names of after death.
The mode of disposing off the mortal remains, ground burial,
cremation, leaving the dead in the hanging gardens for hungry
vultures, urn burials of long ago, electric lighting, crumbling
and crushing for a packet full of ash. The smoke forked its way
between the rubber trees : only the human body can smell thus,’
said my brother. Appa had bought a six by three feet piece of land
to’ build’ his cemetery. My brother corrected, ‘’it is not build, but ‘lay.’
Tessa, British poet, sought the ‘Nadi ‘palm leaf oracle
wanting to know the cause for her future death.
I thought, there is no charm in dying if you know,
the when where how of it all. I said, ’the whole beauty
about death is its unexpectedness. ’Great men,
the world over have taught us how to accept death.
The charm of dying is to willingly let go
for some it is the fight to live a little longer--
Remember, in the register of death
there is no extension.
"Biking Cross-Country"
We rode past a rubber plantation where
we couldn't breathe without inhaling the stench
--worse than burning tyres emitting smoke pipes.
My brother said, be sure you know what it is.
''This light that comes past the rubber trees is fire.''
And so I recalled the many names of after death.
The mode of disposing of mortal remains: ground burial,
cremation, leaving the dead in the hanging gardens for hungry
vultures, urn burials of long ago, combustion at the crematorium
-the instant crumbling and crushing for a packet-full of ash.
The smoke forked its way in between the rubber trees to escape.
"Only the human body can smell like that,"said my brother.
Appa had bought a six-by-three-foot piece of land
to build his cemetery. My brother corrected, "Not 'build,' but 'lay.’'
Tessa, a British poet, sought the "Nadi" palm-leaf oracle,
wanting to know the cause for her future death.
I thought, there is no charm in dying if you know
the when where how of it all. I said, "The whole beauty
about death is its unexpectedness." But Tessa was adament.
She had come to Tamilnadu in India solely for that.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We went past a rubber plantation where the stench
had to be inhaled to breathe; worse than burning tyres
emitting fire-light. My brother said, be sure you know
what it is. And so I recalled the many names of after death.
The mode of disposing off the mortal remains, ground burial,
cremation, leaving the dead in the hanging gardens for hungry
vultures, urn burials of long ago, electric lighting, crumbling
and crushing for a packet full of ash. The smoke forked its way
between the rubber trees : only the human body can smell thus,’
said my brother. Appa had bought a six by three feet piece of land
to’ build’ his cemetery. My brother corrected, ‘’it is not build, but ‘lay.’
Tessa, British poet, sought the ‘Nadi ‘palm leaf oracle
wanting to know the cause for her future death.
I thought, there is no charm in dying if you know,
the when where how of it all. I said, ’the whole beauty
about death is its unexpectedness. ’Great men,
the world over have taught us how to accept death.
The charm of dying is to willingly let go
for some it is the fight to live a little longer--
Remember, in the register of death
there is no extension.