I used to believe when we die special guides
would be waiting to guide us over the divide
between the dimensions, but after Facebook
experience, strangers clamouring for attention
and statistics measuring popularity, requests to
rate photos and would-be-poets demanding we
read their poems
I think when we die we shall be accosted by
spirits seeking votes for them, how suitably
unearthly they look, how their wailing sounds,
the newly dead will be victims of a million scams
in the after-death realms, false guides demanding
a price for non-service delivery, I verily believe
we shall have to steer clear of everyone
In the after-death space, do things on our own to
flee the spiritual equivalent of Facebook friends
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem