Grieving for India

India.

Bejewelled, glorious, soulful India.

Heart of my heart.

Soul of my soul.

I hear your cry, your prayers, your calls.

No time for cymbals or sandalwood.

Where is the rose water?

Why no pindas, offerings to the gods?

Where is the priest?

Why is there no puja, no ritual, no garland?

Just grief.

Smoke.

The kaws of the crows.

The trees must come down.

There is no more wood to burn.

My heart aches for you India.

Blessed India.

Beleaguered. Bereaved. Bewildered India.

By Carla Simmons.

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carlasimmonswriter

I write about relationships, human nature, women's issues, travel, spirituality, and anything in the natural environment. Sometimes I write about writing and my journey to authordom. I follow whatever piques my interest and share what I find. I'm writing a novel about women in mid-life, the challenges they face and their ability to evolve. Australia is my home and I feel blessed to be here.

4 thoughts on “Grieving for India”

  2. Such strong, poignant, and well-chosen words, dear Carla…
    What empathy you have this vast, diverse, and contradictory, country that one either hates, or loves to death, and gets addicted to…
    Thank you…

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