If the sun rises without me,

Do not weep, for I have not gone.

Though my eyes are shut, but I can see,

So, withhold your tears and be strong.

And though my ears are shut, but I can hear,

The beats of the funeral drum.

I can hear the wails of sorrow and fear,

Piercing the innocent air like a guitar’s strum.

If the sun rises without me,

O, tell my beloved mother,

That I can hear the ancient voices,

Of my father’s fathers,

Screaming my name like a raging sea.

Tell her they are calling;

And I must answer their call.

Tell her to not weep.

I will pay her a visit someday.

So, let her have some sleep,

When midnight comes, her pain will fade away.

If the sun rises without me,

O, my brothers, I’m terribly sorry,

For my life has taken a different journey,

So preserve your tears, but tell my stories.

The good ones, not the bad ones,

For what would the bad tales be of my corpse?

Tell my good stories; let my soul be glad for once.

If the sun rises without me,

Do not presume that I have died,

For I’m a poet, death is not my portion.

My light will only be snuffed off for a while,

So far, be it from your imagination.

I have only strolled across the seas,

To nap with my ancestors.

I implore thee, do not mourn for me.

This was written by our contributing writer, Emmanuel Gleekia.