I buried my dog 

after he died after 

a long night of seizure.

Buried him by the side of a small,

but swiftly flowing river,

which resembled him, his life.

A little way from our second home,

I dug and created for him

a pure, subterranean world

of chalk and salt.

And served as his undertaker

soon after he slid into the dream-world.

A new role taught by life—

that I played for a frugal funeral

after a poor shot as a care-giver 

during his lonely,

but heroic battle against

the dying of the light.

This old, frail dog didn’t give up—

fought for his life with renewed might.

And even as he writhed in pain,

he clinged on

until the fear in him did itself shiver,

and went out of sight

Watching you not simply consenting to death,

(fighting tooth and nail

in a tense match for survival)

I recalled the first days you came to us

a joyful wooly bundle

ready with excitement.

Your zest for your limited possibilities of pleasure were immense.

(like pacing from side to side before being taken for a walk)

You only needed a good rub on your dark,

porcupine-like coat to your heart’s contentment

Alas, for the demands of time, my friend,

and my own selfish needs,

I grew more distant.

But you kept looking up to me.

Never failing to sense my faint footfalls

in your deep sleep

even as your wagging tail lost its velocity,

and your weary eyes

looked blankly afar,

perhaps preparing for that inevitable journey

everyone must make

to the distant star

The noble king Yudhisthir only refused to enter the heavens

without his faithful dog accompanying.

You showered me with bliss on earth itself,

when just at the sight of me you came running.

(For Tango, 2001—2017)