On the Death of Bisakha by R. A. Pai

Bisakha, would-have-been mother
of a thousand brave sons, she
had the seed in her when plucked by
cruel Death at the threshold of youth.

Death! we thought you counted
only heads - five hundred from
this town, three hundred from that
village, two hundred from the little
hamlet beyond the hill.

Did you really have to take Bisakha
when, the old and infirm with
burdened souls in burdened bodies
would welcome you with open arms?

Bisakha may yet give birth to a thousand sons
brilliant, brave and victorious
in her bright new world - but alas
they will not carry our names, the stamp
of our likeness

Excuse the utter selfishness! we wish her
well wherever she be
Go child, go, soar high, far and wide
Give birth to a thousand sons in another
world at another time
We wish no more to stifle you with our
petty names, our silly likeness.