By  river of our boats and marigolds,
Our deaths sleep on wet river steps
Amid slow fires as soot blackens sky.
We wait patiently for a turn to burn.

We are patient but  firewood is wet
From rains and   costs have gone up
In these hard times of our stomachs.
Others’ smoke enters our shut eyes.

Even the tiny ant cannot bite a sting
Without Shiva’s express permission.
This night of Shiva we wait patiently
While he is swallowing a blue poison.

We are waiting for our turn to ashes.
We get creepy feeling on river steps,
With  wet fire wood  of recent rains.
It  is more smoke in here than  ashes.