The Uncaring Bastards
As the wind blew over the smoking embers,
The smells moved into homes-
Houses that stood by the ancient crematorium.
It's always crowded, so many people die these days-
We've even seen half burnt bodies,
There's no time to reduce you to ashes.
But we can purge you in other ways-
You can flow, (dead and burnt) through Ganges.
Or shall we top-up your fellow-being's grave
With your body, and let you disintegrate,
Together with another man's bones?
We can also, in full faith and silence,
Submit you to the priest
Who sets up a luncheon of you, for scavengers.
Gone are the days, when we loved you enough
To preserve you.
Now we're uncaring bastards
Who were erroneously granted existence.
Birth without love, in death no solace...
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