Incense sticks, a match box; br And an earthen diya with wick br In a bowl made of dry leaves br Held together by twigs; br br I stood at the banks br Of mother Ganges in Haridwar, br After paying change br To the young boy br Who put it together for me br At that morning hour. br br br I lit the wick and incense stick, br And holding it in both hands br Walked towards the river bank br And put it in the lap br Of the river, watching it br Join other such offerings, br Made by devotees and kin br Of loved ones gone br A long time or just br The night before. br br It was a trip br Long overdue, br To say final goodbye br To my ma and dad, br For I was not with them br When they breathed their last br For reasons beyond me, br Of which they had no clue. br br I felt sad, br And missed them bad. br One day feeling desolate br I shared my grief, br Loss and longing br With a dear friend. br Ever compassionate, br She held my hand br And said, let go br As the soul feels in earthly bondage, br Let them rest in peace. br br That day in the last week br 0f December, br I sat at river bank br Watching the turbulence… br Sun light scattered on br The bouncing waves br Northward bound, br As if the river knew br Where it was going. br Somehow I felt calm br To see it in motion br As I took some water br In my cupped palms. br br Ever since, I know br They live in me br At all times br As sure as I know br I am alive as I breathe. br Now I wonder br Why did I grieve br For so long? br We built memories br To last a life time.