Shariati as a rousing whistle

I don't know what will happen when I die;
Of what use will be the ground wherein I lie.
If a potter could make something of this clay,
Then this is what I would sincerely pray -
That my throat become a whistle for a child,
Mischievous, rebellious and wild,
Who would blow it without ceasing, with such zest
That he'd rouse the sleeping people from their rest;
Who would fill my throat again with his own breath,
And end the awful silence of my death.

Dr. Ali Shariati (trans: Bartlett)