Ganga Putra Bheeshma
Lie above Hastinapur's sands
Such sand that coloured warriors feet
And blew throughout the lands.
Lies he, an old pitamah. Defeated by his foes.
Death bed soft as flowers not,
Yet a bed of arrows.

Krishna, Arjun, Nakul, bheem
Comes Yudhishtir, Sahadev.
Such wisdom he beholds.
From death wasn't saved.

He cannot see
Ones so dear
Whilst death is nigh
Because he's pinned on such a bed
And face, focused to the sky.