HiveComb

How fascinated we are by our dear lives when death is the most certain of all. Old and young, us at our prime, or that unborn fetus— everyone must go. Everyone has to go when it’s time. With the dropping of the last grain of sand of that hourglass, death will seize all our joy, all memories we cherish, all the power we brag about. This is the end of your path— the cold and emotionless whisper of death will touch us all; sooner or later.

Yet, we hope to live beyond death.

Our struggle to defy death continues as we worship, pray, and sacrifice to buy more time from the creator of this universe who holds the supreme power to do the impossible. How we call death an injustice to the fallen as beloveds weep, strangers sigh, and priests enchant the goodbye verse. But death itself is a justice to the living beings. It is the most impartial entity that always comes right on time. One of the most powerful, most obvious being dwelling among us in disguise. And we all know that very well. Yet, we want to escape death.

There comes a point when we seek death. Men and women at their most unbearable sufferings cry for death to come. Death becomes a relief by all means. It becomes the articulation of utmost truth, not a prophetic catastrophe. A dread only sufferers dare to embrace; asking to be sentenced to skip breathing for once and all.

A few days back, I was watching a short film on death. A CGI short. Dark, horrifying, and melancholic it was. It’s about a lover seeking the most powerful being to prove his capability and get to marry his beloved in return. In the process, he captured death, imprisoned it, and buried it deep. The world became deathless. But aging continues and people at their hundreds were suffering in agony, desperately seeking death to come and take them all. His beloved as well. Burdened with age, she wants to die. But can’t; for that death is buried deep. To relieve her from the misery, he freed death. Enraged with the numerous jobs of taking souls away, death cursed him to be deathless. And he lived for eternity, witnessing his dear ones die one by one.

There is no greater suffering than witnessing our beloved die in our arms. No burden heavier than carrying the body to the grave. Nothing compares to their beauty knowing that this is the last time you will ever see their face. Eternal lamentation begins as the fallen takes its dying breath. Weeping becomes the only means to express misery.

I have never witnessed the death of anyone closely related, not yet. Not that none of my relatives ever died, but I couldn’t attend their funeral for many good reasons. Never cried for any deceased. And I wonder what if I can’t cry when someone really close to me dies. Honestly, I thought about it many times.

Sometimes I feel like there won’t be any tears, but I need to. The only way to find out is to witness any of them die. Is that too ominous to wish for? It feels so.

Perhaps I don’t want to weep for anyone, I wish them to live longer than me, I want them to weep for me, instead.

_{*Ⓒ mine*}