Oh Sire!

Oh Sire!
Do not grieve over me if I die,

because I'll take form of the air that dwells around you,
the air that caresses your cheek and kisses your head
and
when you're tired, i'll be the placid breeze that takes away all the weariness.

Because i'll be the wind, i'll touch your shoes
before you put them on
and
during your siesta, i'll be the idle air amid the mattresses and your body.




Oh Sire!
Do not grieve over me if I die,
because i'll be right there in every stroke of your paint brush,
and all the songs your lips hum.





Oh Sire!
Do not grieve over me if I die,
because when you bethink me ardently,
i'll take form of the tender melancholy that fills the corner of your eye
and
the tranquil smile your lips draw.




Oh Sire!
Do not grieve over me if I die,
because i'll be there until you begin to see a beauteous maiden
and
i'll recede when you're intimate with her.
No! not the reason being jealousy,
but because i'll take the form of maiden you embrace.




Oh Sire!
Do not grieve over me if I die,
because when your hopes demise,
i'll ALWAYS be the gleaming star that shows you the way to GO ON.





...Because there exists not a thing that comforts you,
loves you,
fondles you
of which I am not a part of.
Thence casting vengeance from the treacherous times
which compelled us to stay miles away.
So if I die, do not grieve over me.
Oh Sire!