The Epitaph

"I have thought this through, this is the only means to the only true end. I will invite unto myself the sleep of the lillies, and let my eyes be closed to silver tears and faithless nights. I am not doing this for anyone; for no society, no gods, no brothers. I am doing this for my onw immortality, the only way I see to it. I have to die, if my words are to live. It is that simple. The only way to be remembered here, is not through attaining artistic success, the people I know have no sense of art and culture; philistine ghosts. No, the only way is by attacking their compassionate little hearts. I could be a cricket player, if I died the right death at the right age, the sense of tragedy would overwhelm them and they take an interest in who I was, and even in cricker, not because they are really interested, but it is because of who i was. And in my case they would turn to my poetry, which will be ready for them on a silver platter beside my veins. They will call me 'great', 'unique', 'incredible', even though they do not understand what they see. Perhaps a few other poets would sincerely weep for my loss, and for what I could have been. Maybe. And here I am asking you, my one and only friend, to help me in this. I need you, to help me choose the right death and help me in achieving it."

"I don't know what to say...how can you? You are 21 ! You have so much to achieve and do, and I, you know, love you dearly, like a brother, do you realize how selfish you are being? What am I supposed to do without you?"

"You will live, wondrously, there is nothing for me to achieve, because there is nothing I want to achieve anymore. I have tasted all the real beauty; love, Nature, friendship, I have seen amazing skylines and luminous horizons, and now nothing excites me except for this. I know you will not deny me this, your tears are resigned to your helping hand. You have been my guide through all of life's mercy, now I want you to be my guide to the Eternal melody. I remember you telling me once, "my happiness is yours, and yous is mine" and this is my gift to you, I am acquiring an infinite happiness which will be with you forever. Whenever you hear birds sing, you will think of the countryside we saw, when you hear the bright music you will remember the dances we shared, when you see the moon you will see the roads we walked in the late night. And oh how you will smile so beautifully. You see, I have thought this through."

"Lets stop talking before I change my mind. Lets sort this out first, we'll talk more about your madness later."

"Thank you so much, I knew you would understand. Now how do you think we should go about this?"

"Listen well: here is your romantic death! There is a man I've heard of, who always carries a knife, and the fists of ten men wherever he goes. They are a clique from the capital. Looking at them you could see where they're from; crass clothes, poor personal upkeep, loud voices which evolution endowed them with so as to shout from the balcony to balcony, they have had violent tempers since they were children. They stick together like a pack of hyenas, laughing as diabolically as them. We'll go out, me and you, to the usual place. We'll find him, probably sitting on the pavement of the night, shouting at every girl passing by. I'll go up to him, and start flirting with him, and provoke him to say the vilest words to me, you will then come up and defend me by insulting him, infuriating him, and even attacking him. If he doesn't stab you on the spot, then his clique will surely leave you lifeless. It is the best way: a hero's death, and perhaps ruining the life of those that deserves to be ruined."

"That is a wonderful idea, you never cease to amaze me. Ah I want you to be the last thing I see, I will impart all I've ever been to your eyes that smile like a sunrise. It will be a scene worth depicting, like a scene of the Passion; I the dying martyr, you the weeping Virgin, and the murderers of the slums, the blood-stained Romans."

"Yes...I only have one favour to ask in return for all this: I want to be the one, who writes your epitaph. I am not a poet, but I have been your angel and your reaper, and I don't want my last act to you to be your murder, I want it to be the blowing of the trumpet that praises your name. I don't know what it will be yet, maybe:

                                              Here lies the Poet
                                              Of tears and doves.

No one in my life has ever brought me as much tears as you brought me now, and when the deed will be done, but no one has ever given me as much hope. Always you were there, like the Holy Spirit, promising me better futures and hopeful days; and you known, they always came. Or maybe that would be too religious, you wouldn't like that very much? How about:

                                                Long live your name
                                                Amongst the hearts you adorned
                                                With golden olive branches.

Would that be better? I don't know, I will see what else I could say. But just do me this last favour, you know I won't let you down."

"I would be honoured, it doesn't really matter what you say, I know it will be special because it was said by you. I wish I am wrong about death. I wish I could still see you, even if for a few minutes, I want to see you from my garden of exile, and in some way show you the beaty I can see so you can keep it with you throughout your life. If only I could send you a rose with a stanza on every petal. If only I could send you a touch of sunlight when you wish to bathe in the chill Mediterrenean. Or give you a blanket of hollies when you're shivering at home."

"I don't know what you will find, when the knife leaves its steel kiss, but I know, surely, that you will always be with me. As you have been for so long. There is another thing that needs to be sorted out: your funeral."

"I want something simple, innocent, even humble. Clearly this is not who I am. But I am sure there will be many mourners who will attend it, people I never knew, just out of their morbid curiousity. And I want them to be touched, and mourn me as much as possible, and the pain of their tears will be my small revenge for what they've done, for being who they are."

"You know, I will be praying day and night that you change your mind about this. But I will help you through this, this I swear to you. You deserve your fame, your poetry is wodnerful; I just wish you waited longer for fame to find you whilst you were by my side, laughing, smiling, as I've always known you. But you're right I suppose, it wasn't likely to happen: A flower could never bloom in tarmac."

"Come, give me a kiss on these cheeks unburdened by the sands of time...and lets set this last poem in motion."