Dressed in a shroud---
a black-robed skeleton;
of a dried dusty bones,
releasing smokes of fear into world,
with his fleshless hand wielding a scythe.
These are what myth taught us,
of this visible invisible creature---
a soul, a psychopomp with different names:
Yamaraja, Azrael
yes! he's Malakul Mawt ( Angel of death).
This is the peak of my knowledge
of his existence, till
I had a rendezvous with him:
I met him on narrow bridge,
in his grasp --- eyes closed and fading breath,
pulling out what I thought is mine forever.
The struggle lasted for a while,
then, he held my hand and led me
to his dark land,
through some scaring sloppy hills,
he released an ungodly laugh ---
its echoes sent shivers unto the souls of the hills and valleys
He said with a scary voice,
"I am whatever you call me
I take form in many ways,
many ways, I said:
I am Cain;
whom envy pushed to send his brother into the depth of mother earth,
I am the sicknesses;
which eat up your souls,
I am the truck;
that ran over Innocent mortals at the market square,
I am the weaponry;
wield by men, an agent of mass destruction.
I am whatever you call me, but not wicked,
not as wicked as man:
as their envious ways,
as their treacherous trait,
as their discontentment --- leading them to me,
so, tell the world."
I felt a pinch,
and I found myself among surviving souls.
Heard them saying, "he's awake",
tried to respond, but all I could muttered was
"TELL THE WORLD"
1 Comments
Humm! This is a nice piece, more knowledge to him
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