when the fire of my heartbeat dies out
Leaving no embers to be rekindled,
When I finally roll up my mat
And the curtains go up
Do not stand here and weep
When this gray hair pulls out
My decoloured skin
And scanty dentition
Like works of art
Laid beneath the waiting womb
Of insatiable earth
Moan not, for you had your chance.
What business have you here?
Begone with your stench of hypocrisy
Your foul breath of deceit
And thick sprinkling of wickedness
Masked in caring tears
For you watched as I aged and limped
My frail bones you did not massage
Nor did you care which clothes I wore
That dirty old man you ignored is gone
And here you stand with watery eyes.
Your crocodile waters trailing down
Your deceit infested face
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