I have planned my funeral by Sweta Vikram

My hands smelling
of freshly baked foccacia
will look rested on a summer evening.
Family drowning
in a room with red walls
will consummate
with food and flavors of music.
Friends sipping
from pitchers of memory
will sprawl on the sofa
of soft giggles and anecdotes.
Bowls of honey,
filling mouths of people
pouring like night,
will birth tongues of kind words.
Breeze will carry
scent of yellow roses
from my grave to the pen,
so dust never settles.

I know what I will be denied
as pyres reduce me to ashes,
Hindu pundit whispers
his religious beliefs
into temples of masculine, believing ears –
words mummified, sand trapped
in the hourglass like my wishes.


*Note: Hindus aren’t buried but cremated. The Hindu pundit performs the last rites and women & alcohol aren’t permitted.


Author bio:

Sweta Vikram is a Pushcart nominated-poet, novelist, author, essayist, columnist, blogger, wife, yoga-devotee, dancer, and oenophile whose musings have translated into four chapbooks of poetry, two collaborative collections of poetry, and a fiction novel (upcoming in April 2011). Her scribbles have also appeared in several anthologies, literary journals, and online publications. A graduate of Columbia University, she lives and writes in New York City and reads her work across the United States, Europe, and Asia. Sweta also teaches creative writing workshops. Follow her: On Twitter (@ssvik) or Facebook Words by Sweta.