Emily Brochin

The Ballad of the Widows of Vrindavan

If you ask my name, I say ghost

And wander the temples

And ashrams of Vrindavan

Bent like a cane left under a tree.

Lord Krishna, I beg you:

return the pyres of my mother.

She did not endure these aimless days,

enshrouded like a silent clock.

I eat my cup of rice cold,

I spy on the insects in the street,

For who could ever look upon

the bad fortune that life replaced with death?

I dream of my last sight,

I dream of a circle unlocked,

I dream of the bracelets of my daughters,

jangling as they make afternoon chai.