I wish to know…

When I am gone, at the tip of a rope

Or the last poison drop

What do they tell about me?

Compelled by a social creed,

To speak only glory of deceased

They’ll call me all that I always wanted to be called

I wish to know…

When I am gone, after losing to hope

Struggling up to the final drop

What do they think about me?

Some not-so-close will grieve for days

Others closer shall for months

I shall then become part of the rusted records

I wish to know…

When I am gone, becoming nothing but memory

Roaming aimless and free

Will you show me my beloved ones, even if they can’t see me?

I loved them so much more than me

And that shall continue to be

But never once did they care to feel nor did they ever see!

-Shyam