Sati

I saw yo on your funeral pyre

dead

I am on

my funeral pyre

alive

amidst flames of

desires, longing

help

    less

       ness

burning me

inch by inch.

Hours are slow

Weeks and months

Slur by.

Who says Sati has ended?

The custom is

still alive.

When a partner leaves

It’s shadow creeps in

wickedly

and lovingly

consumes the other

dragging

the grace of life.