I know that you're long gone
Your life continues like a race
While mine standstill and I'm lone
I still keep dreaming of your face
My existence is stationary, never changing
Our memories constantly reminds me
Of the fragile, fleeting nature of mortality
I try to forget you, it's never easy
My life is similar to a living replica
Like currents of water in a storm-tossed ocean
Though I keep living in an esoteric area
Someday I want you to see my epitaph
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Apparently The Times (newspaper over here) writes them in advance. Obituaries that is... I guess you have a little more choice over your epitaph. I'd hate to see mine. t x