The old man is dead
His two shadows and the apparition
Looking on anxious,horrified and relieved.
Finally the son is of any use
Lighting the pyre emboldened by the fire
Raging in his throat and belly

Lived so alone with the two shadows
And the apparition. But, a jolly crowd
To bathe his sins and embalm his skin
With ghee. Tea and *** passing hands,
***** and tobacco smoke unlocking
The mind. Nephew in epiphany, discovers
The soul did not escape through the mouth
But through the *******!
Defective death, needs prayashchit.

13 days! Too long to atone for a
Life time of neglect! The kulin  hands
The old man chose for his only son
Finally stirs, a feast for the departed soul
Offered at twilight under a banyan tree
By the holy bank.
Ahhh! Moksha!
I wonder, for whom.
The apparition struggles to raise a hand,
A cry, while the shadows melt away.