poet Bijay Kant Dubey

Bijay Kant Dubey

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Asthi-Kalasha (A Poem)

One midnight
When I opened the door
Found I not my mother
But her asthi-kalasha.

The asthi-kalasha of my mother,
One midnight
When I opened the door.

I did not, did not find her,
But the kalasha
Hanging by the pole.

Spell-bound, spell-bound
And speechless
Stood I by
Seeing the urn.

The earthen pitcher-like small urn
Of my mother
Containing in the ashes.

The earthen pitcher-like small urn
Of my mother
Containing in the ashes.

One midnight
When I opened the door,
Found I not her,
But her ashes in a container.

Mother, mother,
Mother, my mother reverberated it
Within, but she was not, not.

When I opened the door,
When I,
Saw her not,
But her bodily remains in a container.
In the kalasha,
To be immersed in the Ganga,
The holy waters of it.

The kalasha,
The asthi-kalasha of my mother,
Saw I speechlessly.

After being wordless
And spell-bound and awe-struck,
The kalasha, asthi-kalasha
Hanging by the bamboo pole.
Day before had been alive,
But day after she is not,
Dead and gone by,
Mother, my mother.

Mother, my mother
Lying dead and lifeless
And burnt I
Consigning to flames.

Tearfully saw I,
Saw I mother
Burning on the pyre.

Returning to,
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
My mother into the five elements,

Earth to earth,
Water to water,
Fire to fire,
Wind to wind,
Spirit to spirit.

Mother, my mother
Vanished she into the panchatattwa,
The Five Elements.

Collecting a handful of ashes,
The bodily ashes
Put it in an earthen container.

The kalasha,
Asthi-kalasha of my mother,
Mother of everybody
Kept it hanging.

And as thus, as thus lost I
My mother, mother
Whom I had been close to.

Ma, ma, ma,
Mother, mother,
O mother, my mother!

Now after her death find I not
Anybody so nearer to me,

Making me understand,
You should not so this, that,
O my son!

Forlorn stand I, stand I on
The banks of life
Waiting to sail the boat someday.

Motherlessly view I the world
And still remember I my mamma
Bereft of her love and affection.

Mother's love, mother's love
None can return it
And this understand I losing her.

Whose asthi-kalasha is this,

It is of my mother, my mother,
My dead and gone by mother,
Devastated stand I, sir!

Mother, my mother,
Mother, my mother!

Topic(s) of this poem: art

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, November 22, 2017
Poem Edited: Wednesday, November 22, 2017

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