No epitaph shall there be when I die for the birds on some mountaintop will I feed and in their bellies, in a thousand pieces freed shall I ascend, into the Eternal Blue Sky But should no bird for me wish to fly would I the flames engulf these old bones lighting me up in a dying sun’s carmine tones and carry me up in smoke, to that Eternal Blue Sky Still should the ardours of fire pass me by would I a ship grave be fashioned swift and with no goods laden, be set adrift to float and deliver me, into the horizon sky And should Tengri my company disdain then in white cloth wrapped shall I be lain with my mother under that accursed blue sky and a headstone inscribed with the cry: Quelle tristesse, le monde entier! [30-I-2016]