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Afterwards, Mithila

Mithila, you may never know,
But I can sense- deep, unshakable…
Something strange stirs on my horizon.
Perhaps, a festive awaits,
A celebration of fleeting mortality
That rushes in, disrupting my dreams.

This life, Mithila,
Was never a weaver bird’s nest
Weaved it in hardship of life
That turned into a fleeting courtyard of sparrows.
And now, I drift closer to the edge,
To the very limits of despair.

Mithila, the winds will cradle your path,
They will guide your alluring trail
You will not be completely alone, I know
But an intangible time will clasp onto you.

I will lie in its wooden coffin,
Carried like a bride in a palanquin of four…
Not to a wedding feast,
But to be enshrined in earthy box.
Everyone will rush with the speed of storms,
Leaving me in solitude,
Alone...
Ah, what a cruel tradition!

With this unending body,
I will rise…
Summoned by the divine.
My loved ones will exhale,
Their burdens lifted, 
And their duties fulfilled!
Let's chat, have food, and entertain the guests.
Ah, what a ruthless custom!

Mithila, an invisible gust will cleave your heart,
And you will wonder
How will I be?
Where will I be?
I will stretch across the boundless earth
Its vast courtyard will become saddened
Light will break through the darkness in fragments,
That’s an eternal nightfall.

Foxes will call in muted cries,
Birds will sing silence into the wind
Blending silence.
And beneath the soil,
Where rows of skeletons rest in eternal beds,
No breath will touch another.

Only the sleepless vigil of nights without end.

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