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O Death, thou art man’s closest ally!
From his mother’s womb thou hath banded with him;
thou were there when he exhaled his first breath.
Even than his veins, thou art nearer to him.
Surrounded by thousand mirrors, he sees thou not,
yet thou art more visible to him even than his own flesh.

Incessantly, he strives to free himself from you, 
yet he could not do without your touch every night.
Alas! This touch of yours he calls ‘sleep’;
In his language he defines your touch (sleep) as 
“a natural and periodic state of rest during which 
consciousness of the world is suspended.”
Indeed God is close to man, but, O Death, thou art closer. 

Life is death; Death is life.
Right from his conception in the womb of the living,
and from his first inhaled air of the land of the living,
man begun living his death.
Obviously, thou art no stranger to man;
thou art man’s closest friend.
Thou art a friend to all, indeed;
yet, remains a friend to none.
Therefore, let man learn how to be a better friend to Death.

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