Past Tense
i
Moments after the passing,
grief is put on hold.
First things first—
someone orders an ice box.
An unknown neighbour calls the crematorium.
ii.
Calls to distant cousins
and still-angry uncles follow.
The pauses are awkward,
conversation, stilted.
The house is full
of strangers trying
to overcome the moment—
this silence.
iii
The entourage arrives—
priest in tow, rose garlands,
rice and sesame seeds.
Suddenly,
there’s purpose in rituals.
iv
All the decades of a reputation
so carefully built
into an impenetrable fort
of morality
are suddenly reduced
to the inanimate,
past tense.
v
An outpouring of warmth
against the cold skin
of rigor mortis…
vi
At 1000 degrees centigrade,
even the bones are not spared.
vii
The next morning,
ashes, still warm from life
embrace rushing waters.
And grief finds release.
About the poet:
Shobhana Kumar has two books of poetry and six works of non-fiction covering industrial and corporate histories. She is Associate Editor of Sonic Boom and its imprint, Yavanika Press. Her first book of haibun, ‘A Sky Full of Bucket Lists’ , published by Red River in 2021 has won critical acclaim. Her poem, 'Just Married' was selected and translated by Gulzar in his seminal anthology,’365 Poems’, and published by HarperCollins in 2020. She is co-curator at The Quarantine Train, a writing collective founded by Arjun Rajendran. She works in the spaces of education, branding and runs an NGO called Small differences, that works with vulnerable communities. You can read her work here.