Death: An Unwelcome Reality

This is a description of the painful reality of death, and the wisdom in living a life of purpose and meaning.

The sting of scorpions infuses deadly poisons,
And the pain may sometimes be unbearable,
The spitting cobra in its fury spurting out fang and venom,ย 
Makes the victim a storyteller here or in the afterlife.

But there is one whose sting remains indescribable,
Whose venom or fang none can see,
Whose presence brings about the gloom of doom,
And a sore feeling transcending time and space.

Death!, my friend is who I speak of,
A friend of friends and an enemy of enemies,
Extending its hand whether by deceit or insincerity,
Leaving no choice to one, when it has made its choice.

It is neither bound by space nor time, a true friend and enemy indeed,
For it meets you in the corner of your attic,
Or out in the openย fields of life,
Whether domiciled or in transit, it neither sheaths its sword nor retracts its love.

"No way out for you", it rings out its malicious voice,
To the sick man on his sickbed, or the exciting traveler on land, sea, and air,
To the unsuspecting happy man full of life and energy,
It encircles him, and in a jiffy snuffs the life out of him.

Death is a proud warrior, fighting battles in unwelcome zones,
Conquering all who stand in its way, leaving none to tell its gory tales,
And where there is some bubble of life, it partakes in the feast.
Sharing its bread of sorrow to all, bringing an utter end to happiness.

And when, my friend, you run from death,
It couches and waits for its prey - you!
Until it finds you powerless in your prime of life,
Yes! To its supreme will you bow, and join its many unhappy victims.

To think that death, an escape it is,
From life's unhappy cares and troubles,
A mere illusion it is - such wishful thinking!
Death strikes at last - that potent universal reality.

Yet death and its glory will fade away,
We know not when, but why and how,
It has its death, and its grave has long been dug
Where its venomous pride will forever be laid to rest.

But there is one much more gruesome than death,
This is the life of wanton, vanity, and foolishness,
No hope nor ambition, no thoughts for tomorrow,
You lie in death's bosom, with endless regrets.

So listen my friend, don't submit to death,
You are its match, no! more than its match
Your life, if well lived - with meaning and purpose,
Sinks death to the grave, and your exit into life.
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