Flowers for the Dead

The procession,
the dead music,
the huming of a truck carrying you away
in your coffin
and the garland in front
a kind of flower you had been allergic to
is now around your neck
dangling like a curse
taking you to judgement day
if there's such a thing
as heaven and hell,
and what causes one to wonder
is why all these fusses over an afterlife
when there's no death had ever
meet a sensible rebirth,
and why would anyone wants to be reborn
a human after all these miseries
the earth had shed upon one's existence?
What fool would seek an afterlife?
What fool would live to die just to return for a better one?
Reincarnation isn't for me thank you.
Take what you want, death
while I live my fullest life
before you come to shut my smiles and my joy.
I don't like the flowers
that don't smell like the salinity of the sea
I don't like anything to accompany
my death. No tears upon my body.
No remorse for the deeds I have done,
good or bad, let death shed it all away.
No flowers for me, thank you.
No jasmine my death can't smell.
No lotus where life yearns to become.
The sum of me and of what I am worth
no one should remember nor want.
Burry, bury burry me
for death is freedom and joy.
My voice but a croak in the sea.