dont hate me when i'm gone
when this body has returned
to being radicals and molecules with a life their own.
when it no longer breathes,
the hairy chest heaving no more
from sighs born of sorrow and longing.
when all life has ebbed away,
when all that remains of me are memories--
mundane and poignant...

dont hold on to me
hoping for a resurrection
for i'd truly be gone
and along with me, almost all that
identified me as me...
my smile,my countenance,my words,my voice
even my warmth,my breath,my complexion,my odour.


for me, you could pen an epitaph most prosaic;
"here lies a man who was born, lived and died"
nothing more,nothing less.
yet, if you searched long enough
it is just possible that
you would find something to add--
a little pointless anecdote
or an insignificant memory
that punctuated life...

i did sin, like every man before me
and laugh like most of them
and despair and scorn and spurn
even cheat and despise and lie
but to my credit should it be said
that i did love...

but now, all of that seem pointless
for it's not merely my body that
you now consign to the holy fire.
isnt it with great relish
that these hot tongues slurp up
all of my hopes, my anguishes
and my  most secret desires?

dont, please dont hate me when i'm gone.