The Beautiful Face of Death
Among the dying,
One turns and sees
The beautiful face of death –
A long-lost friend,
Welcome and familiar.
She approaches him softly,
And in her embrace,
He finds peace –
An end to the pain,
The suffering.
Eager, he longs to reunite
With those who came before him.
Death, gentle and kind,
Guides him toward the afterlife,
Leading him carefully
To the family waiting.
She moves among the corridors of souls –
Some unsure, yet comforted by her presence.
Others greet her with tears of relief,
A joyful surrender to what comes next.
For those not yet ready,
She speaks with tenderness,
Encouraging patience,
To continue the fight –
Assuring them,
She will return when the time is right.
And then, she comes to you –
A dying soul.
But your cries of denial grow louder
With each step she takes toward you.
You refuse her gentle touch,
Fearful of the end,
Fearful of the unknown.
She watches
As you desperately cling to life –
More medicine,
More machines,
Full code,
Every intervention.
She tries to tell you:
Death is inevitable.
But you turn away,
Insisting that money has no limit,
That death is the end of all things,
An end to your legacy.
Death shakes her head
As you resist what is expected.
She watches in silence.
Still, you run and hide
Behind the hollow promises of interventions.
The prognosis is poor,
But you demand more –
More prayers,
More doctors,
More procedures.
Your body weakens,
But your mind refuses to surrender.
The battle continues.
Yet, despite your efforts,
The inevitable draws near.
Slowly, your body gives way –
Fading, fighting,
But no longer the same.
You continue to insist,
But your mind is now gone,
And your body remains,
Barely held together
By machines, tubes, and drains.
Death stands beside you,
Watching patiently,
Shaking her head –
A silent witness to the pain.
For all involved,
The outcome is clear.
But still,
She waits.
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