By Ceraman Kottampalattut, somewhere within 1800 and 2000 years ago, in either India or Sri Lanka (best I can come up with).
Great it may be,
yet my grief has limits,
for it is not strong enough to kill me.
On the weed-strewn salt earth of the burning ground,
on a pile of logs set aflame
her bed blazing fire.
My woman is dead, she belongs to the other world,
yet I am still alive.
This life is strange.