i want to leave this world like the setting sun
to not disrupt the day as i go
let the wives chatter on till they must get on with supper
and the buses take their usual route right pass my house
there is no need for somber silence
or to hang a black cloth in the neighborhood
let the evening roll on like the river
let it be the screaming kids who disturb my old man’s afternoon slumber
not my death, not my death
let my friends remember to water their bougainvillea and peace lilies
not that i have gone, not that mine have started to wilt
i want to step into my grave, with grace and quietness
no church bells announcing my death
no preacher stressing to gather a list of good things i never did
the birds will sing my eulogy
and no flower shall die for my sake
the weeds and invasive creepers i despised in my heyday
shall decorate my funeral

the earth will welcome me
make me a bed in the sweet depth
and the roots of the trees i planted
might come to find me in my grave
and kiss the flesh of my hands
and understand that i, too, have been buried
as i have buried their seeds all those years ago
but i am not here to sprout, or grow towards the light
or bear fruits in a few years time
(though i have long dreamt to live like the trees)
i have simply come to lay and rest
and make my slow way back to dust
as gracefully and quietly as i can

so i will go like the setting sun
and take my time to linger behind the hills
and watch the world admire the sky i have painted
with the honest and passionate colors
of my one dear life

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