When Death Sits On My Chair Poem by Mitta Xinindlu

When I am dead and alive no more;
could you take that pin of metal
and pin it onto my hair?
Take a bunch of flowers
and colour my flair.
Sing twinkle-twinkle little star
until I don't matter, anymore.

Flush down the memories of my smile,
my sight and my pride.
Keep quiet for a while
and hum a hymn of burial.
Sing no songs,
just walk,
and don't talk.
Lie.
Lie more about how good I was
and that I never sinned.
Wish me alive,
at least for a while.

Take me with you to the grave,
and look at me for the last while. Sink me down,
and let me swim in the soil of the underground.
Leave me there
and go home.