Swallowing the rising smoke

I'd want it to rain,
on the day I die,
not heavy rains,
only a light drizzle,
on the day
the body'd be burned, the drizzle
vapourising the burning
wood, swallowing the rising
smoke, diluting the tears, sorrows
and longings.

And when the sun rises,
there'd be no reminder,
no ash, no bones, only
a mark on the time gone by,
leaving me free to soar
up in the sky,
for peace, for truth, for love,
alone.