The last breath and then I become a stone;
Why congregate then to mourn to make me known?
Bury me or burn and leave me alone
Keep not my ashes in the urn.
May it merge with the dust
And be made one with the crust
And be strewn by the wind and rains
To nourish the yonder plains
No homage, obsequies or chant
No rites, feast or cant
No remembrance day or rant
This grace, I beseech, you grant.
I bequeath my eyes as gift to the blind
And my heart to ease the mind
Of the sick with failing heart
And my wealth, to the needy, ere I depart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem