When Death Spoke to Life

When Death Spoke to Life

Death once asked Life,
“Why do they run toward you,
and turn their faces from me?”

Life lowered its eyes and said,
“Because I dress myself in promises.
I whisper tomorrow.
I let them believe there is time.”

“And you?” Death asked.

“I arrive,” said Death,
“without lies.
I take nothing that was not already fragile.”

They stood in silence,
watching humans hurry past graves
as if the earth were not waiting.

Life said,
“They hate you because you end stories.”

Death replied,
“No.
I only reveal which stories
were never told.”

For death is not the deepest loss,
The deepest loss happens earlier,
when courage fades,
When love is postponed,
When truth is swallowed to keep the peace.

Something dies quietly while the body still breathes.

And the bitterest tears
are not for the ones who leave,
but for the words that never crossed the lips,
the hands that never reached out,
The lives that were lived halfway out of fear.

At the grave,
people finally speak honestly,
But it is too late for the living.

Death listens, patient and calm,
knowing this truth:

It is not my arrival they mourn,
But the life
They forgot to live
Before I came.