many people who died
old,
have suggested to us
how life should have
been lived
'i should not have worked
so hard
i should have lived a life
i desired
i should have confessed
my true love
to my true object of
my affection
i should have taken
the risk
i should have expressed
my truest feelings'
then he died.
and we,
and i, who heard all these in
a whisper
wanted to hear some more
what ought to be
what should have been
what could have been
i could have been happier
but it does not matter anymore
i am left here to live
my own style, my own recipe,
my own cooking
my own taste,
and even if i die, it will remain
definitely
not for mass consumption.
i live this life, honestly or dishonestly,
what matters most is i live
and i shall not make any whispers
even in my deathbed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem