When I breathed my last, I heard wailing,
when I was alive, I mostly heard complaining.
My own said how much they loved me,
how I longed to hear those words when there was life in me.
The marigolds and roses on my coffin I cannot smell,
till death without a single flower I had to dwell.
The tons of flowers on my body weigh me down,
now suffocating my very soul.
My brothers robbed me of what was mine in right,
with no guilty conscience they sleep soundly at night.
Why don’t you fight for your rights, some poked,
how can I pack half-an-acre in the coffin, I joked.
They meant well, for fortune looked the other way,
My treasure are my children I would often say.
What a nice person near my coffin some said,
a helping hand they kept in their closed hearts instead.
How I ached to speak at home,
seal your lips, they would intone.
As I laid counting my hours, please speak, they lamented;
my sickness has me exhausted and weak, I pleaded.
I had a drink or two after the sun hid behind the shores,
to soothe the aching nerves brought on by all the chores.
The whisky will surely kill you someday my wife grumbled;
your harsh words do it everyday, I mumbled.
I may not have gathered riches,
but a kind heart I did possess.
Nor did I soar like an eagle,
preferring instead aloofness, and a life minimal.
I wronged my loved ones at times I must profess,
my heart yearned with regret I do confess.
Beyond the grave I cannot anything tenderly give,
I can only hope that you will forgive.
We live as if we are never going to die,
and die as if we have never lived.
Life is short, life is short, we introspect;
barely realizing death will come on a day we least expect.
O don’t, O don’t, shed tears for me,
God is infinitely merciful you will one day see.
Come, my child, He says, I ached when you were in pain;
let my light envelop you and may you never see darkness again.
No garland around my photo and no requiem can ever come close,
to the place in heaven God for me has now chose.
Wonderful is indeed the Almighty;
for His love and mercy knows no boundary.
Someday, I pray, the same God to unite us;
living our lives with no regrets ever to pain thus.
Cry no more over my grave, nor have any regrets;
I take with me small moments of joy that life offered.
A few good words, a rose for the living, are far more prized,
than all the wreaths, bouquets and mourning at the coffin side.
Spare every now and then a rose for the living,
a gesture of love ignites the very soul with fresh breathing.