The gate is unguarded; moss carpets the stony path
a solitary keeper sits smoking a forgotten leaf
looks but once at me, quite carelessly,
then turns his back – I’m used to this.
I search his eyes for a sign
I’m new here too, like everyone else,
Would he guide me? His eyes give the swift reply
Pariahs don’t dwell with ‘everyone else’
I take that as my answer,
and walk furthur to the open graves.
No flowers, here – none brought, none left –
excluded and shunned, even in death.
Now I wander ‘neath the starry skies,
watch fathers, mothers, put to bed
hear sons’ and daughters’ silent cries…
knowing, only my loneliness mourns me dead.
© Isha Garg