The earth is
Dying of old age
But if it’s me,
That dies first,
Hopefully I get
To enjoy what I’ve
Enjoyed in its
Presence.

The warm and tenderness
Of unconditional love,
Or the passion behind
Nerudas words,
swim in the transparency
Of the freezing rivers
That embark their journey
On the vertebrae of that
Shackled Island
That I used to call home.

If it’s me that dies first,
Don’t let those who
Speak my name see
What I have become,
Let them remember me
For who I was,
Hollowed eyes,
From restless nights,
The incoherencies
That I speak,
The laughs that
Surround me,
Echoing until
Eternity ain’t eternal
Anymore.

When it’s me that dies first,
Take me back
to where I was born
Bury me under the sapling
Of a flamboyán tree,
Love and care as much
Maybe more than you have,
Watch me reborn, grow,
Become magnificent
Dressed in orange reds
And greens.

Finally, carve unto me
The words that I’ve written,
watch me grow old
like I did life’s ago
And forget about me.