Edina-15 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Ask me not where we have fixed our bones after the judgement day
Nor I know who performed our last rites in such lonely place.
Here are the graves plenty and memorials with epithets numberless,
No one is left to ask for where we were buried last and what is our past.
This is not the only last address chosen carefully to place us for eternal rest
And the inscription of our virtues and glories are avoiding truths
Being written by some hired draftsman for hefty money or gold
It is unjust to proclaim this funeral absolute and final.
Rather a high time to travel back our yesteryears before being condemned departed,
When we had play full days and peaceful nights among the ashes,
Besieged by the swelling river and unknown flowers of bushes
With grassy bed under starry skies where we read our life better.
How deeply we shared our feelings with the stranger souls,
How sincerely we searched each other ashes to trace our meaning
Till the new corpses overtaken our place and made us wandering destitute.
Our heaven was stolen by these dead souls suffocating us with clumsy smokes,
An abnormal emanating of all stupidities with flying ashes and cracking fire
Which were called pious emancipation of abstract souls by the accompanying ghosts.
What the point I want to make is our perpetual desolation and condemned dismissals
Now and then from the crematoriums to graves or graves to crematoriums several.
We were never alive even for a year or for a month or for a full moon night
And dissolved often for our follies, for our inborn drawbacks, for our bad luck.
Now this kinship with the departed and deceased, our wise neighbour,
Who can predict the next newcomer and can point out the actual stars
With charred bones, our next abodes quite free from wilderness and numerous deaths.