Dear Death

By Keerthana K

I pray to the gods I know

For Death’s hands to be warm

When from earth she drags me so.

For in every dream and nightmare,

I’ve imagined her holding a hand to my face,

And in her eyes—not even a hint of a glare.

No, Death is calm, and she smiles.

Death will give me a moment for a last glimpse,

So I can say to the sky—a final goodbye.

But the hardest part of death is that she is a reminder

Of all the things I will have to leave behind—

The little moments that my heart held as tender.

Death smells like the talcum Mom wears,

And has hands that feel like Dad’s embrace.

Death’s cloak is made from the blanket my brother and I share,

And has eyes that remind me of mine.

Then everything went still. Death spoke:

“Come, we shall not beguile the time.”

And goosebumps crept over my skin—

Death sounded like a hundred people all at once,

A blend of the sounds of my kith and kin.

And that’s when it hit me why people despise death—

It is not the fear of her bringing agony along,

Rather the multitudes of a person—their inner song—

All vanish in one final breath.

By Keerthana K