Where bodies go to die.
To burn up in orange marigold flames.
Do not cry, my son.
Your tears might cause the departing soul to remain,
tortured and restless: wandering.
Women, you wail and walk circles around the shrine.
Cry hard so the men set fire without weeping.
Burning flame of the mouth, creep slowly onto the pyre.
Burn hot and whole on the wings of the wind.
Carry father's ashes away home.
1 comment:
Ashleigh,
Just finished reading some of Jane, Jenna's, Emerson,Rheba and Ella's blog so I caught up a bit with what is going on. Sounds like you are in a very hot humid place but have already had many experiences. Emerson did a great writing on Aslan, the lion, and Aslan the California drifter. Very interesting comparison. Hope you are staying well and healthy---stomach issues seem to be a problem. I am heading to the farm in a few minutes---we always think of you there. We love you, Mom and Dad
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