Lay me not; in coffins of mahogany red, or golden brown,
Nor in caskets of ebony; shiny, and chocolate dark,
Cover me nay in shrouds; intricate with designs, embroidered in silver threads,
But in a coffin of cheap old wood, covered in a white spun cloth let me sleep.
Take me not; as ashes in pots painted with fabric golden paints,
Or cremate me in fires burning yellow, with fragrance rich of sandalwoods,
Flow nay thee; my remains in currents and waters of holy Ganges’ charm,
Burn me with dry rubber wood, and flow me in a nameless, sweet gurgling stream so small.
Make not please; an ivory tomb flawless in thy love for me,
Or a garden laden with flowers, and lush green grass smiling at the place where I lay,
Nay come ye; with colorful bouquets, or garlands to adorn, on the day or time I died,
Let me sleep now, with neither threads nor strings attached,
Interred with my bones, in an unmarked place.
Bury me not; underneath cold polished granite tombs,
Neither beside smooth white marble engraved headstones,
Nor in my family grave, with epitaphs inscribed in praise of me.
Let me lie; beneath an unmarked grave,
In the bright shining sun, and nights chilling starry skies,
Unkempt green grass, and touch me not weeds growing wildly over me,
Six feet deep, sleeping, dreaming and lying still,
Till my soul flies off, and my body putrid goes.
