Don’t raise a tombstone over my head;
Let there be no epitaph that bears my name.
Bid your final goodbye with three fists full of soil;
Just bury my remains in a secluded place.
Preferably, under a sprawling banyan’s shade.
Burn me till I’m grey.
Don’t confine my remains in an urn of porcelain.
Send me off into the unseen. See me off as I disappear.
Blow me away into the winds.
Let me know how it is to be a zephyr.
I don’t wish to be a resident,
Don’t you bear me in your mind;
Of a chronicle that’s neither fact nor fiction.
From wine to vinegar, try what ever you may;
Let me pass as a cataclysmic, ephemeral phase.