The famous man
Lay there on the mat
His nose stuffed with cotton wool
A pauper
Fools around him wept
In loss or ritual
Didn't they know that death
escapes none?
And so it must come
To the rich and the poor,
To the good and the evil,
To the famous and the unknown,
When the last breath is drawn
And escapes into the ether
The body but an empty shell
Eaten by worms and ants
Yes we all must lie down then
With cotton wool in our nose
Shrouded in white
Penniless
While the smell of camphor
Hides the stink
Before finally blazing into
Cinders and ashes
On the bed of fire
The only thing that remains
Are the words and art
The deeds and the memories
The photographs and the legacy
From ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
I wonder if Sri Ayappan's death triggered these lines.
ReplyDeleteMatter of fact though!
@It remeinded me of Ayyappan. In the mid-eighties when I was in Eranakulam, Ayyappan tried to commit suicide. My roommate was a friend of Ayyappan. We took Ayyappan to the Dist Hosptial, had his stomach pumped out. He was an Avdhoot.
ReplyDeleteHere it is not camphor but the ubiquitous Agarbathies! I hate its stink/smell because it reminds me not only of death but of hiding putrefaction...
actually the words took shape few years back when i saw on tv the report of the death of actor, raghuvaran. still in his prime, it came as a shock. i recollect his body on the floor with cotton stuffed nose. and i thought. this is it.. we are all destined to lie down like this one day, stuffing cotton in our nose... in some context i recollected the image and well wrote this... In death lis all the answers..all the truth...
ReplyDelete