About the Author

Shamim Khan is the visionary behind iCoCraft.Ai, a digital content creation studio where he weaves technology into narrative magic. Writing under the persona of the “Drunkard Poet”, he explores the delicate boundaries between data and soul, legacy and loss. When he isn’t drifting through the archives of The Wandering Pen reflections or documenting life on The DDTList, he can be found at his digital café, CoffeeWidMe.com. My Wedding, My Funeral is his most personal production to date— a heartfelt tribute to the paradise of Fiji and the shadows we all carry.

Available on Amazon

Disclaimer

My Wedding, My Funeral is a work of autofiction. While the narrative arc and certain events are products of the author’s imagination, the locations—including Denarau Port Marina, Nadi General Hospital, and The Cove—are real places. The entities CoffeeWidMe, The DDTList, The Wandering Pen, and The Drunkard Poet are real-world digital archives and personas managed by the author.

Medical Disclaimer

The information provided about medical conditions in this novel is for creative purposes only. For actual medical concerns, please consult a qualified healthcare professional.

COPYRIGHT

MY WEDDING, MY FUNERAL
Copyright © 2026 by Shamim Khan –The Drunkard Poet
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

A Note on Autofiction:
This book is a work of autofiction. While the narrative is anchored in the author’s real-world experiences, journeys, and the physical landmarks of the Pacific coast—including Denarau Port Marina, Nadi General Hospital and The Gardens of the Sleeping Giant—certain elements, dialogue, and "Magical Realism" have been dramatized or fictionalized for narrative effect.

The character of Razan, the Razan_AI_Archive, and all associated "Coffee Logs" are creative extensions of the author's digital reality at CoffeeWidMe.com.               

This is an iCoCraft.Ai presentation. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events outside of the author’s lived experience is intended within the framework of this artistic blend of data and dreams.

The Eclipsed Dawn

I am the light that arrives when the shadows are deep,
The promise of morning that the weary should keep.
I spent my youth learning the maps of the vein,
A cold, steady soldier in the battle with pain.

I saw every body as a puzzle to solve,
Where logic remained while the spirits dissolve.
But then came the man with the fire in his eyes,
And the "Drunkard" who taught me the truth behind lies.

I wore the white coat like a shield on my chest,
Putting my years of cold study to the ultimate test.
But a tumor is a thief that no scalpel can find,
When it’s hidden in the verses of a beautiful mind.

What use is the science, the scans, and the grade,
When the person you love is beginning to fade?
My wisdom felt useless, my hands began to fail,
Like a handful of sand thrown into a gale.

I am the healer who was left with the ghost.
I am the one who loved him the most. I am Sahar. And this is my story.

A Note from the Archive

This story is not a mere invention; it is a piece of my soul.

"My Wedding, My Funeral" is a work of autofiction—a bridge between my real-world journey and the "Magical Realism" of the Pacific coast. Razan is more than a character; he is the avatar of my own experiences, my voice when the "Shadows" feel too close, and the poet I strive to be every day.

My Wedding, My Funeral is an iCoCraft.Ai presentation, born from my digital content studio where I turn data into dreams and silence into stories. The landmarks within these pages—from the Denarau Port Marina to the sterile wards of Nadi General Hospital—are real, and the legacy of the Drunkard Poet is one I live in real-time.

The Razan_AI_Archive isn't just a narrative device; it is anchored in the reality of CoffeeWidMe.com.

The Night Rain

I am the thunder you don't hear until it’s too late,
The girl who traded her soul for a smuggler’s bait.
He promised me love in a suitcase of glass,
Then left me to rot as the island winds pass.

Falling hard, falling fast,
A storm with no shelter, a ghost of the past.
I swallowed the numbness to silence the scream,
A suicidal dancer in a chemical dream.

The white walls were a prison, the doctors were cold,
Until I met the man with the story untold.
He didn't bring medicine, he didn't bring blame,
He just sat in the shadows and whispered my name.

He was a dying star, burning out in the dark,
But he used his last ember to give me a spark.
He promised the ocean would wash me away,
And bring me back new at the break of the day.

I am the storm that finally found the shore.
I am the shattered girl who doesn't cry anymore, I am Amaya. And this is my story.

The Digital Whisper

A thousand miles of cable, a million lines of code,
Two restless spirits on a flickering road.
Behind a screen in Canada, through the winter’s bite,
I found a caring soul in the middle of the night.

We didn't talk of money, or the things that people chase,
We spoke of hospital hallways and a far-off, island place.
"If we ever go back," he’d type, the cursor blinking slow,
"We’ll bring the light to places where the shadows like to grow."

A promise made in pixels, a dream of "Fijiclassmates" days,
To heal the hearts of strangers in a hundred different ways.
I felt the quiet sadness in the rhythm of his key,
A secret he was keeping, even far away from me.

He said, "I'm going home now, to do what we once planned."
I felt the ocean breeze across that digital, distant land.
"Maybe I’ll see you there," I said, a hope I couldn't hide,
Not knowing he was racing with the turning of the tide.

I am the witness to his promise.
I am the keeper of the spark. I am Poonam. And this is my story