Put on these glasses.
One lens is a monk’s, one is a pastor’s.
Now see with a blue eye & a brown eye.
Our remains all will lie on a large flat rock.

Here we always treat
Our deceased with utmost dignity.
Tradition is protected and applied.
The lifeless body is not on display
For some vultures to appear one by one,
Then a flock swarms above what’s left over
Where they caw & pick at it greedily.

Outsiders don’t come by with cameras
And desecrate sacred rite underway.
Would this happen to a public figure?
The mind has departed the body for good.
We don’t put a manikin out for show
And chant over it while smoking outside.
Sky burial it is not practiced here.

Juniper scented smoke from the steep cliff.
Fumes of frankincense billow over ditch.

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Joshua Meander of Forest Hills, N.Y. His poems are romantic in spirit with a touch of drama.