If I should die before my time,
Do not moan this travesty as “short-lived.”
If these words should find you and touch you
Like Elisha’s anointing, embrace my spirit.
Ink your pen with our tears; let its salt
Overwrite the eclipsed pages of my diary.
Continue my words, this writing curse.
Consecrate the dirt of my ashes as “Justice.”
Promise me that you’ll “live twice-over” by
Enlisting us holy dead. Mourn not
That Time forgets us, as Death desires.
We are survived in your life’s poetry.
Can you not hear us in thunder’s voice?
We are the life of each line.
Samuel Rubadiri 