If my life would halt before I wake,
Perhaps that would be our last meet.
And my mother would be helped by other
mothers to wail over my demise
then my friends would want to
close their eyes and open their voices.
perishing if I do,
uncertain of everlasting life,
heaven or hell is still unclear,
perhaps death is death after all,
and the soil be me and I part of it
never to see darkness of day, light of night
if my peoples eyes shall weep and bleed for a week,
perhaps with a dry cry we shall part hoping to meet again.
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