Five Elements

by Jubaraj Baruah

In the silted planks
Of a wooden pyre
The staple wind strums
A gentle fire
So featherless a light, faintly it crackles:
The pores of
A thick skin and the weight of his doubts.
This indeed is:
A quick demise in the stillest of hours.

The circumambulating torchbearer stops:
Droops his shoulders,
To this very stipulated bye-gone doting.
He has by now come to terms with
A flexed muscle on weightless sand
Recurring to lag behind
A movement in a freeze frame
He knows now what separates them from him
Them, the five elements diffusing into one
And him, a million stray doubts and a straight collar.
Them, who shall ascend into the stars or sink free
Him, who sweats, trembles and feels.
The staple wind strums
A gentle breeze
And nothing.