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                               Etched in Stone

In the soothing serene silence of a shining summer day
Strolling along a lonely alley laid in black stones
Bordered on both sides with verdant greens
Interspersed with some yellow trumpets
In the graveyard of Saint Jean church
Hoisted on a small tropical island
One can eye at its centre point
A glamorous graceful grave
Carved in greyish stones 
Chiseled in rectangles 
On which is etched 
By artistic hands
An epitaph
Written out verily by the incumbent himself 
Some time before his flight to the sky:
“Do not cry. I am not dead.
I am pretending”

A charismatic leader of a party vehemently opposing
Independence of his country, but once toppled down
By the voice o the populace, joined the ranks 
Of the ruling stream to lend a helping hand 
For his country to come out of the gulf 
Of dearth, distress and deprivation

A sharp criminal lawyer of the higher wealthy class
As of deprived, destitute and desolate widows
He oft knitted friendship with law brokers 
And with wild wit would defend their cases

An advocate and adherent of well-off sugar magnates
A warden and guardian of captains of industry
He would often uphold the case of workers
In a bid to wear the prevalent, popular hat

Gifted with a retentive memory flashing above board
And a brain racing faster than thunderous winds
He could outshine his opponents with a gag

Minister of state for a while, garbed in an acting dress
He strived to set his country on the world map
Entice tourists to trip to the paradise island
And allure foreign entrepreneurs
To launch local ventures

Yet his lavish public expenditure and profuse life style 
Sporadically sparked off sincere shines of dissent 
Within and outside the corridors of power

He did excel at exceeding the extremities of extravagance
And in his personal life claimed the right to excess
Living as a luxurious, lavish, legendary lord

Knighted by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II of United Kingdom
For weaving labyrinth of ties with the former colonial master 
He was known by his compatriots as Sir Gaetan

An emotional epitaph elegantly etched in stone of a soul
With a shining heart cutely carved in molten gold
He would not shun to extend a generous hand
To folks in need without a roof on their head
Irrespective of caste, colour or creed
And his door was ever open to all
Who on him would wish to call

Was the intent of the words etched on stone to shirk away tears
From the circle of relatives, close of kin and friends 
From the sphere of admirers and passers-by  
Or meant to catch in the web of sympathy
Barons of society and common folks
The well off and slum dwellers

Was the emotive enigma etched in stone meant to reflect 
The energetic, enigmatic and eccentric journey of life
Of a disparate, distinctive departed soul
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