Uma Gowrishankar




“Herbs, trees, cattle, birds, and other animals that have been destroyed for sacrifices are reincarnated in higher existences.”     Manusmriti : Chapter V, 40


The silent jangle of disjointed bones is muted in the breeze over the field of salt where

on rainless months grasses grow for the cattle to feed.


Dead wings of butterflies tell stories of forests where sunlight dappled on dry leaves in

flight: gold coins bobbing on foliage where you graze in silence.


The day hangs on a bird’s cry, the time between life and death suspended on the hook

of a song; you tear with impatience like a coat filled with wind ready to blow away.


You become the umbra of existence, whites of your eyes take the color of the placid

blue sky, painless like a mirror emptied of reflections.


I toss a coin into the river for you, the disc folds in the light like your eyes before they

closed the final time, when they rested on the grass field outside my window.