When I finally kick the bucket,
And go to hang out with my heavenly papa,
I want to go down in blaze of glory,
And I don’t mean being cremated,
Although I would love that,
So that I can ask for my ashes to be scattered,
In all my favorite places.
I am a living seed,
I don’t want to go down with my potential,
When they write the history of poetry and writing in Kenya,
I don’t want to be a footnote,
I want to have my own page, or even a chapter,
But if we are many then a long paragraph will do.
This body shall not live forever,
But I want my work to live forever,
In the hearts and minds of those who loved me,
And those who never meet me,
But met and fell in love with my work.
When they bury me,
And the preacher says dust to dust,
I want to be buried with my books,
And I don’t mean the ones I read,
I want to have written many books,
And instead of throwing dust first,
I want my close family and friends to throw in copies of my books.
Cover me to sleep eternally,
With what I loved most my words.
I just bet that if I was a bookworm up here,
There must be bookworms down there,
And they need something to consume,
So they can eat my books,
And we can have a party underneath the ground,
A bunch of bookworms hanging out together.
It may sound ambitious,
My dreams and how I want to be buried,
But for too long I squashed what was in me,
Buried it 6 feet deep,
And I am alive.
So now that I am living and breathing,
I want to uncover my dreams,
And live them.
I don’t want to die,
With all the books and stories that are in me,
I want them in print and electronic copy.
For an eulogy,
I want them to read a piece of prose,
Of my life,
I don’t want it to be dull,
That I came, I ate, I lived, and then I died,
I want it to be filled with awe,
Showing all the literary awards that I got,
And the people I impacted.
So this is my dream,
Though it is abit selfish,
That I shall never be forgotten,
But that though I die,
I shall live through my work forever.
