When I Will Turn in Rock

A poem, a life process

When I will turn in rock,
I will be no more body of the shell
But yet one of a rock
A rock With my name on
– My shadow.

The last physical memory of me
that can still feel the refreshing wind
The cutting lighting, along with rain.
And the weight of ages.
sometimes,
the aromatic smells of flowers
That will grow from
the remaining essence of me.

I will hear, like in a confession,
The hidden and unexpressed feelings
From my beloved ones hearts,
often
Weightless.
I will Absorb some drops of tears
Drawing from a pitch of love
Regret, lament, anger, and hope.

My last physical home,
Signing my departure from
This earth.

The beauty that still is,
I am alive.
I mourn of pain I picture
And I laugh at the irony of it.

I think of the cessation of me while I still am.
I think of when I am not while I still am now.

Today,

My heart is still melting at a message of a lover,
birthday wishes from my beloved circle
of friends and family.
I still dance
with a desynchronized move
but yet feel the joy bursting
within my body.

I still drink wine to celebrate myself,
Read some wisely verses from the “Gospel of Mary,”
Listen and singing along to the inspiring song of Bazzi “Beautiful”
Taking my shower with a fantastic poem —
by Amanda Gorman, “The Hill We Climb.”
playing in the background

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