Poem: The Curse of the Firstborn

It’s been 7 years. but it looks like yesterday. The curse of the firstborn…to light their parent’s pyre.

Poem: The Curse of the Firstborn

I cherished my living parents
Not so long ago, but now-
I stand there staring
Sweaty from the hot flames
Grimy with the flying ashes
This moment an uncharted territory
This place, an unusual time
For such a shocking life lesson

I am mature and all that
But nobody told me this –
Middle age is not the prime
But it’s when you become an orphan
No more parents to look up to
As if the divine hand pushed me away
Into a dark oblivion, I dread

Now, this moment –
When I placed the burning pot
On my parent’s chest
The Curse of the Firstborn
The hardest way to say goodbye
Their remnants now disfigured
Returning to the ashes
Soot flies from the chimney
Then –
I see their bones in a pot of ash
Dissolved in the rivers

I am left behind with-
Memories that I must cherish
From the distant childhood
Captured in worn-out Sepia
The one that I forgot to smile
The one I hold my father in fear
The one my mother hugs me
A lot to reminisce about
Moments I could have
Spent and savored more

I stand on their shoulders
The chair looks empty
The half-closed Gita
The room is empty
But filled with memories
I still see them there
I breathe in deep
To suck in their presence

A tinge of regret
A drop of tear
An understanding smile
Between the sordid rituals
They say will assuage the bygoners
Who will comfort me now
Tears from the smoke mix
With tears of the loss
The stoic faces of the mourners
Distorted in the teary curtains

Now –
I am a grown-up orphan
My children view me as weird
But they would never understand
Till they get to their middle age
That it would be my funeral.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

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