Quantum of shadow

How will my friends remember me when I'm gone?

Shall they say that I was a good man?

Shall they spurn me and spit on my grave?

What will people say of me when I am gone?

Those whom I knew and those whom I didn't?

I wish I could leave something.

A trace, something worthy of remembrance.

Something that no one could laugh at.

I hope people will bow their hat

When they will see my hearse.

I know I won't make it to the news.

I know I will not make history,

Or get my entry in the History books.

No building shall be named after me.

I am a simple man. I don't matter.

Perhaps the fool in me will be best remembered

Or the fits of daredevilry make a lasting impression.

My acts of kindness. My bursts of passion.

My blindness in affairs of love.

My smile. My eyes. My scars. My silhouette.

What remains of the man when he is gone?

Which of his deeds passes the test of time?

The things he wrote? The jokes he made?

The sermons he gave his erring friends?

The shoulder he lent? The house he built?

Is it those he loved, those he fathered?

Or is it the hat he forgot on the coat stand?

Surely not his footsteps on the sand.

I was given my great-grandfather's pocket-watch.

Yet I have never met him. Does it mean he isn't remembered?

We are deserts.

Eventually our shadows fade

And we turn to dust and sand.

Yet traces of walking can be seen.

I wonder if someone will follow my footsteps,

Or retrace them.

I just wish I won't be forgotten.

Not before the next moon is up.

Solace or hope:

Time can't level everything

On a human scale.