The Forbidden Ritual Poem by Mark Heathcote

A widowed woman is committed to death.
The ritual says she must climb her husband's funeral pyre
find her beloved in the blue smoking, burning ghee
her husband's head rests on her lap, ah this is suttee;
this a ritual suicide by fire on a log & straw pyre
opium-induced, honouring flames lick beneath.

They're all-consuming to her life, her mixed grief.
Is this all meant to make her otherworldly,
in this undertowed vision of heaven, sparks fly,
cries howl, soon to drown, they'll crackle, die.
Ah, this is suttee; and is a ritual otherworldly,
she glows now a goddess, ah radiant in disbelief.

Her body is like clarified butter, burning ghee.
Ah, this is suttee; this is a ritual, otherworldly
her soul is like clarified butter, burning ghee
now she too is otherworldly, ah, this is suttee;
ah, this is suttee; a forbidden ritual, otherworldly,
sorry, I-just-doesn't think so, at least not to me.