No more to live in earthly mould,
Though siblings not bereft?
Despair in me did clasp it's hold,
My spirit long since left.
No funeral pyre, no gaping clay,
Not one sad mourning tear,
No blood red rose, nor white bouquet,
Was flung upon my bier.
For me, no sudden tragic end,
But slowly perished inside,
A veil of sorrow to descend,
When close-blood kinfolk died.
Lymphoma slowly sapped my life,
Such ills did I abhor,
Then as lost love increased the strife,
I decayed a little more.
No one aware that I've passed on,
Appearing to all just fine,
I smile and laugh, 'til yarns are spun,
And die more every time.
Finally reduced to hollow shell,
This world, my mind it warps,
I wander in this lifeless hell,
An aimless moping corpse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem