All, after his expiration,
His eyes glaze once beneath the earth.
But those letters of adoration
Will be explored in a leaflet.
The pen that has spoken of honesty,
The lines of spellbounding homilies,
The stanzas conveying thoughts of reality;
Singing charity, fortitude and follies
Shall all then become indelible.
The forgotten author will be given prestige;
The decay'd bard will be ineffable
For he has left behind a sublime vestige.
My brother, you are not leaving the scene yet. I belong to the school of thought as Roland Barthes who believes that there's a difference between the author of a book and the narrator of the book. (in his When the Author Dies) . And believe me bro, i dont like when young poets or artists for that matter thinks of what will happen when they are dead. There's magic in words, so bro dont ever wish you are dead unless you are really ready to die. Please check what happened to the man that sang Dance with my Father. What happened to Dagrin after he sang If I die etc. Seriously i dont really believe at all in superstition, but i began believing lately. The poem in itself is superb. Good works of art never dies! If not we won't still be reading poems like Prometheus Bound. Kudos.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem...a prophesy I guess. I too do agree with Chime, I feel that if a poet should write of his after death, its better he does so in 3rd person. But this is a good piece...kudos