If you disappear for seven years
You'll be presumed dead legally.
Your wife can marry your friend
Without any consequence and
He can write four eulogies each day
For maybe the next couple of years
And have them published without
Anyone's objection.
Maybe a grave in your name
Would dig itself up, sing an
Uncomposed dirge and
Close itself without any funeral.
The winds will be afraid to
Remember your name and the birds
Would be put in captivity to
Forcefully whisper your absence.
The world would have filled
The void you had left and maybe
Your death would be celebrated
With cake and rum each year.
And if you ever decide to come to
Everyone, it would be hard for
The stakeholders to accept you.
And while you stand wondering-
About the dystopian possibilities
Beside the house you built
In the village. Maybe the dog
You had fed once-
May sniff you back into
Existence if you're lucky.
But then again, will you be worthy
Of such acceptance?