when I'm burning near the ghats of ganga,
when my ribs collapse into prayer
and my heart starts to burn
the air will fill with the smell of
YOU
sandalwood and memories,
jasmine braided through your hair,
the turmeric stains on your fingertips
from the last meal you made for me.
Oh Ganga, when you receive my ashes,
be gentle with your current,
don't scatter me too far, too fast.
Let me linger near the ghats
where she comes to light diyas at dusk.
Let me swirl around her ankles
when she steps in to pray.
Let me be the silt that settles
on the hem of her saree,
hitching a ride back home.
Oh my love,
Watch the smoke spiral upward,
gray ribbons unraveling toward heaven.
I am not disappearing
I am becoming air,
becoming everywhere.
I will slip into the monsoon's belly,
I will ride the lightning home.
And when the first rain breaks,
do not hide my love,
do not hide beneath tin roofs,
do not cover yourself from the sky.
Stand in the courtyard.
Tilt your face upward.
Let the drops kiss your eyelids closed.
Because that is not drops falling
it is my hands,
finally learning how to hold you again.
It is my mouth
whispering every word
I forgot to say.
The earth will puddle with my longing.
The gutters will overflow with grace.
And you,
you my love,
you will be the NIRVANA
I was ever trying to reach.