"I look to heaven, but my soul screams; my soul screams from grief and pain, while it had to rejoice, had to exult, since it’s my brother’s birthday. But turns out it is not given to us: the light of our soul is stolen, our lucid dream is stolen away, and only bright memories are left, which will burn the entire pack. And they will be burnt, believe this brother, I promise you, my only brother, I will do my best to make them pay, I won’t give rest to that pack until grave.
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
ReplyDeleteI am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
-Mary Elizabeth Frye