ID of a Corpse

After breathing my last
In the Suburb of the Cadavers
I went to the Churchyard
To look for the Artisan
Who could portray an Epitaph.

I screamed for his whereabouts
And a wondering corpse pointed
Towards a one-off Pigeonhole
In the God’s acre.

How assiduous he was
With his hammers and chisels,
So scrawny, so skinny
Like a Carcass.

With his scattering Ribs
And the ghastly Laughter
He asked
(Either he saw me or heard)
Whether
I was a Hindu
Or a Mohammedan,
A Buddhist or a Jain,
A Sikh or was a Christian;
Whether
At the Dawn of my Death
Koran was chanted
Or the Gita,
Or was I adorned by a Cross.

I replied with my ID
“Forsooth,
I am only a Corpse
That too decaying…..”

Artisan ruptured into laughter,
Flashed into a pause
While asked for the reason,
And replied……..
Who could name a cadaver
Only a Corpse,
He remained no more a Corpse.

I searched for myself and found
I didn’t die yet………….