Soon, we will all die
and leave our little wealth
to our wives and husbands
or our kids and parents
then they will mourn us
according to how much we left them
they will wail
according to how generous we were
Not according to our spirituality
Not according to our intellect
Not according to our lovemaking
Not according to our titles
not according to our looks
Not according to our relations
But they will wail louder
if we left a few estates
they will mourn sadly
if we left a fat bank account
they will prostrate passionately
if we left 50 acres of land
Why won't you eat fried chicken tonight?
why won't you have that baby tonight?
why won't you have an orgasm again?
why won't you buy that car now?
why won't you go for a tour tomorrow?
Tomorrow you will be dead anyways
tommorow you will be relaced
tomorrow you will be a distant memory
tomorrow your money will lie idle
in a bank account that was private
tomorrow cancer will take all your savings
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem