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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



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Unknown said…
Humm! This is a nice piece, more knowledge to him