Death is hard work.
Death is hard work for the ones alive, but not for the dead. True to what it appears to be, the ones living are those who have to endure Death, the dead are dead and gone. A look at the years of bereavement puts us on a vast landscape of rugged terrain and an uncertainty of what lies beyond the horizon. It is the Unknown that everyone fears.
Should the dead fear the Unknown for no one knows what lies ahead after the last breath, but they leave
to rest in peace. For the dead, dying must not be hard work. For the dead,
there is nothing unknown, for they know there only lies rest and peace away from the
perils of the daily world of man.
Death is hard work for
the ones alive. It is the toil and effort to navigate through the flickering
compass of grief on this dull and rugged terrain. Death is the acceptance
of the unknown beyond the horizon. Death for the living is the effort to move
ahead every single day. Death for the living is to carry that heart left in a vacuum, from the day Love decided to pack and move out to rest and never to return.
Should the dead mourn for
leaving all that the world has to offer even at its simplest form, and should
the dead linger in nostalgia for Beauty? But the dead leaves for oblivion. In
rest and in peace better than the joy, laughter, love and care of all. For even
if Death meant to leave for a lonely world, for the living too, deep down each
person is a solitary loon.
Death is an additional Baggage of Solitude for the living. An anchor lost, an amount shorter of the
love received and a ray or rays of sunshine lesser in life. Death is swimming
through the perennial river of absence, submerged in the silence of the waters
and unable to speak of one’s sentiments. For in the river of absence, to open the mouth is to sink consumed with the weight of isolation inside you. Death for the living is to
continuously waft through and through with endurance.
Death is the end. An epitaph with a few words of love and
celebration, in loving memory.
But Death for the living
is a Prologue. A beginning of a new book, a character-wise chapter through a
journey of survival. A page by page note on surviving the agony of living
through death until one’s own epilogue on dying.
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