I don't like going to ceremonies, testemonials or memoriam
listening to speeches, stories, legends and fables, much is true
some is fabricated, polished in eulogizing terms,
It's not the victim of mortality we pray for it's the living we seek to
please, and ourselves, that we are not among the departed
That remains interred, corpreal carcass decaying
I find it hard to accept demise and the ideal of transmigration
I don't even know what a soul looks like, much more myself
In another form or transgender, or God in imperial raiment
I'm still angry I have to grow old
have little faith in phantoms, Plato and The Holy Ghost,
Does it matter what legacy we leave
It does! epecially to those we leave behind
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem