He is dead, passed out of the world last year,
and in the business class of hell he summons the memories
of the lady of his life.
Recalls the way his world was engineered and designed,
and how only during the electricity of his lessons,
could he converge with his love.
In this life after death that ramifies contracts
and kicks relationships to a backstage beyond,
the dead man can't help but remember her.
The efforts he made to catch her glimpse
and the time he had for the same.
I don't mind failing to die again, he says.
Just get me back to her.
Who says dead men don't have memories?
Businessmen do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem