If I am not alive

Well then, suppose on some moonlit evening you heard
I am no more!
What would you do then?
Would you come running wildly, desperate for one last glimpse of me
to that door of mine—the door you never wanted to return to, not even by mistake?

Suppose I truly am no more!
Those words you never wanted to hear,
those words you never had time to listen to—
would you then burn and ache, utterly shattered,
longing to hear what I had to say?

Suppose I really, truly died!
On that starlit night of some full moon, on that rooftop
where we were to watch the moon together—a promise you never kept—
would you then clutch that railing, beating your head
against the darkness's chest, and burst into wailing sobs?

Suppose I truly am no longer alive!
That secret pain you never cared to know,
those tears whose cause you could never fathom—
would you then pay the price for those neglected sorrows,
lying sleepless through a thousand nights?

My household that never came to be,
small wishes that went unfulfilled, or
all the regret of never walking hand in hand with you—
would these become the reason your midnight sleep breaks?

That day you would surely feel such remorse—
why didn't you love a little more while there was time,
why couldn't you read the words within wordlessness,
why couldn't you see the ocean of pain stored in this seven-inch chest—
thinking these thoughts? Tell me?
Wouldn't your heart burn terribly then,
as much as a corpse burns to ash on the pyre?

Just once, only once, if I could be certain of your love,
I could die a hundred times without hesitation, with a smile!