Flight of Eighteen Chariots

Unfastened at pyre, they stride in file
Eighteen chariots, of rich wooly blackness
Without steeds without steer, beckoned by the wise wind
Onto divine destination, for sake of a journeying soul

A trail carved of ash, left in their midst
But carried is more, more than even trunk to branch
A shade upon each flower, in the rustling of storms
And the grace of sunshine, where sense of lull was gone

A homage to departure, the circuit traced of bark
In fraternal file too, did keepers make ready the path
A bid farewell not to follow, splendour of kite colour
But hint of ambling waft, does sail from sandalwood source

Before gates could glisten, came the final fretful march
Many sturdy steps taken, with soles soldiered seventy years on
Once soft and supple, our bare feet had come to form
And our measured maiden moments, fatefully led by her feet now mourned