Lazarus's Onward Journey

My friend Lazarus of Bollongre died In an accident. He shook it more than twice When he peed on the fence of Nehru park, And it cost him his life when a truck Rammed him from behind. All of us, His bereaved friends, knew He wasn't Lazarus of Bethany, and None of us a carpenter either. But we shouted at the morgue's door, 'Lazarus, come forth', beatified by barrels Of rice-beer we drank in mourning. At his funeral, Two days later, we buried him With pomp and gaiety. His coffin rested on our shoulders On the way to the cemetery, and we carry The fond bruises till this day. His soul Rested for a while at Balpakram, And he washed his feet in the black pool. We hung chunks of smoked meat around the ancient rock, Food for his onward journey, and we shouted again, 'Lazarus, go forth'. And he left for his eternal home, and We raised our glasses one more time for the road.