Getting killed in a remote alien land,
With kith and kin kept waiting for long,
For a grievous glimpse of one’s last remains,
Takes a dig at the heart, with tons of weapons
Hitting at one stroke, causing a piercing blow.
The pain of parting is a part of the game.
But the sore of not being able to share
The parting moment, paints grief in permanence.
The battle of the womb with pangs of pathetic kicks,
For the one to be packed for the tomb, is a rude reminder
Of those, that it received
during the genesis and gestation;
The heart beats louder, with resounding requiems
During the course of fatal pull of the umbilical cord,
Years after its delinking delivery programme.
No backup can boost the morale of a bereaved mother.
Dying offshore, is the most diabolic cut of all.
P.Chandrasekaran.
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