When I’m gone,
Don’t burn me up
And spread my wasting ashes on
The raging waves into
The mouths of the hungry crocodiles.
But instead,
Bury my useless bones
In the heart of the soil,
Where the only real sound is of the
Lonely cricket chirp.
The air is heavy,
Laden with the moist scent
Of apple blossoms and white lilies;
Turning mauve with the tears
At my departure…

Where the crocodiles shan’t reach
To shed their tears
And the green verdure will grow to
Rest its tirin
g arms on me.
The sun setting into
The still valleys of nether will
Cast its last rays
On the tomb you build for me.
Let the epitaph read of your longing of me
The rain shall drench
Me clean and
The moonbeams will
Kiss my cheeks at night.
I’m tired
Let me rest now…


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