Promise Me. My Friend, Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Promise me. My friend,
Promise me.

Promise me to put the lines
All that I wrote
Before
The judgment of the generations.

I do not mind their sentence.
I only want, want those
Generations that will come
To know
That once was I, a suffering
Human:
Whose mother cried at birth
As I cried too:
Whose mother treasured him
Alas! Too much:
But made me what I am,
You, my mother and my
Ancient father, thrones on
Which I sit.

On them I wrote and thought
And thought and wrote
Civilization was in my ear
Song and verse in my heart
Thought and all in my brain-mind:
But now
Now
No mother lays her hand on me
Nor father gives his blessings by
The night:
Alone
Alone I pine and my dorsal spine
Towards the earth as an old oak
Whose youthful days are done
Now bend and bend.

Times to me and peoples to come
Will judge me.
But how judge me if
You lay not before them
Each verse I wrote?
That is question and that is your task.
That is your promise.
That is
How to unravel my problem.

Whistle; whistle to the stars.
The time is come.
The night with sadness
Shrouded ghost and mute.
I descend the steps:
If no Dawn brings me up
Then
My friend remember
Remember the promise that you made
Publish my all, each every verse,
Then
Let the times and peoples judge
And judge.