Remember Me:
To the living, I am gone.
To the sorrowful, I will never return.
To the angry, I was cheated,
But to the happy, I am at peace,
And to the faithful, I have never left.
I cannot be seen, but I can be heard.
So as you stand upon a shore, gazing at a beautiful sea - remember me.
As you look in awe at a mighty forest and its grand majesty - remember me.
As you look upon a flower and admire its simplicity - remember me.
......
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
......
The kitchen's old-fashioned planter's clock portrays
A smiling moon as it dips down below
Two hemispheres, stars numberless as days,
And peas, tomatoes, onions, as they grow
Under that happy sky; but though the sands
Of time put on this vegetable disguise,
The clock covers its face with long, thin hands.
Another smiling moon begins to rise.
We drift in the small rowboat an hour before
......
May death come gently towards you,
Leaving you time to make your way
Through the cold embrace of fear
To the place of inner tranquility.
May death arrive only after a long life
To find you at home among your own
With every comfort and care you require.
May your leave-taking be gracious,
......
I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch until at last she hangs
like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says,
' There she goes! '
......
The baleful crows of nightingales
sound the lamentation of one’s final throes.
The skies cry for the thoughts and memories you’ve left behind,
the beautiful flowers shrivel up in response; petals once alluring now lifeless
Never would one think that in your passing
brings such a feeling of melancholy and longing.
The cries of toiling people comes with you in your rest,
Beneath the murky ground – amidst the vast and desolate plains
until the echoes of life leave their bodies.
As I stand before the gates of death,
And take my final, trembling breath
I'm filled with fear and deep regret
For all the things I left unsaid
I try to find my way to faith,
But no matter how I pray,
I remain an atheist at heart
A heathen creature with no god,
And now, as death draws near,
I am afraid.
......
Stars sneer aloof down wanderers in walk
Through memory archways, on pathways of dirt
Those guides flare vexed by the twists in their stalk
As heart roots dyed carmine and violet flirt
What is the force that moulds souls to fuse tight?
How fares the heart if that solder is cracked?
Does a man linger when death snuffs his light?
What gives him meaning in his final act?
......
Are you the body that is sure to die?
Or are you the one who will go into the sky?
Why don't you stop and find out, 'Who am I?'
Then, there will be no need to cry
Is it not certain that we will lose our breath?
O man, why do you fear the moment of Death?
Death is not a moment of desperation!
Stop with the body, your false identification
Then, Death will become Liberation
......
A doorway,
to a realm unknown, unexplored.
Whether in peace or in fear,
it still waits,
behind our last breath.