Take me to a vast and open field and with my last elegy being read, release my ashes as you set me free, free in death, to run with the wind. No, tears you will not cry – at least not tears of death; but cry for me tears of birth. Like a new born emancipated from the womb taking its first breath, I will be liberated to take breaths elsewhere.
Tell him. Tell him that I loved. Tell him that I loved, if not only him. Tell him I tried to find the words, I tried. But I soon found there wasn’t enough songs to sing, nor enough words to write and then, never enough time. Tell him, I became impatient for more time, and then impatient with the time I had.
I want to be buried under a moonlit sky, with only the whistle of the trees’ silence, with no words spoken as I spoke them all before. Write no words too, as those letters will never tell the stories that we’ve already told. Cry, you will not, at least not from my words; and least not from our words.
In her ear whisper. In her ear whisper that no matter what, I will stand at her side. Tell her, my mother dear, the whisper she hears will be mine. Tell her the whistling of the trees in the silence, with no words said, will be me. Tell her to take me to a vast open field, so my last elegy can be read, and to spread my ashes with the wind. Tell her there, to set me free.