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inspired by a dozen years driving cab in downtown Vancouver at night.

Who’s gonna throw my pitiful ashes
into the holy mother Ganges?
Who’s gonna hold it as their sacred obligation?
Who’s gonna know the need for this to be?
 
I’ve seen so many nameless shadows
lurking 'round so many darkened alleys.
Down in the zone of the living dead.
Who’s gonna take the time and care
to honor their remains?
 
Who’s it gonna be?
How about you? or you? or me?
Or anyone of us, who by grace,
still have a name that might be carved
upon a cold, hard, granite tombstone.
 
Pray for the souls of the nameless ones,
long lost in those endless alleyways.
Just as you’d pray for each grain of sand
along the banks of holy mother Ganges.
 
Without each and every one of us
to guide the sacred waters home,
there’d be no river,
there’d be no rain,
there’d be no sandy shores,
there’d be no hope of reaching home again.

(2013)

Other works by Wil Kavi...



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