Funeral on the ghats of Ganges

wooden clogs of despair
Strike blithely, bells clang
Tormenting  destiny
harkens the foot peddlers
Of myths, to tarry a bit
The doors still shut
Its still too early for your calm brows to
Knot a song of bitter faith
Fading  twinkles of your eyes to see the
The mist of  sepulchral

Beyond widening gaze of river
A shimmering of love beckons with palms folded
Tying your lips to steps of stony belief
Flames playing hide and seek with your eyes
Chamber pots of anxieties are brimming with
Your sins
Ashes, speechless, await your moment
Shrouded in dusty quilts,
Reciting hymns
unheard by heavens
Except the twigs of funeral pyre

The ink well coughs dusty memories
And the nib is wrapped in forgetfulness
As the moment approaches, for the waves of
Ganges to kiss you with its lips
You think of the last words that could have been said
While you capered and pranced on your wooden horse