He is dead,

Can that be said?

Even if he did not live.

He will die,

That is a lie,

His footsteps had not trod this Earth.

He did not live,

He does not live,

And probably he will not live.

So we need not talk of his death.

We are the beholders of his memories,

We are the readers of his stories.

As long as he lives in our hearts,

As long as we know of all his arts,

As long as at least one person reads

Of all his great and heroic deeds,

As long as heavenly bodies rise and set,

As long as he, in our hearts, weaves a net,

His memories are there wherever we go,

That is because he lives in you.

He will not die as long as we keep

All his dazzling memories.