Waiting For the Shoots From the Shroud

She also dies to be reborn in hallucination. Her spouse’s corpse is wrapped in a white dhoti. She makes everything safe within the walls, slamming the windows and doors. Bacteria perform the post-funeral rites before the burial. A smoldering Frankincense gulps down the fetid smell. She’s one among the multitude who can’t see *Mangalyaan landing on the lap of Mars. No one can alter the earth’s flat shape in her mind. Her peace feeds on the scraps that a pretentious priest drops. Her lips rain mantras, yet shoots of life don’t sprout from the shroud. She waits within a circle of illusion. There’s a meaning in meaningless waiting. *Mangalyaan – India’s first Mars mission Poetry Nook Weekly Contest Winner