sometimes there is
an ending surprise when
we contemplate
upon
the death of a human being
we dread thinking that
we can be that
dead human being carried by
a few
inside a coffin
towards the most silent
destination
decorated by wilted roses
or some smoke from the
candles
call me weird and if i am
then fr minster must be the most weird person
doctor of metaphysics
exploring all avenues about death
he is rested. he was murdered while attending to the needs
of the prisoners.
for one thing
and this i admire myself for that
less the arrogance
of a
questionable philosopher
i told him
death is nothing
it is the most normal event that happens to the human species
even my own
i do not wish any pompous occasion to mark it
it is the humility to simply acknowledge
that we are all
silly mortals who are trying to escape but does not want to enter
the door
jesus, he only had 33.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem