Rejoice here comes Death

Rejoice, here comes Death

The whole motility of mortality
Is as if stepping over a grave
In this intricate movement is embedded
the whole secret of this transitory phase
And the poet is but another prophet of time
His words may not be his or the moment
So this is my vaticination for a man

While the sun or the light or the moon
Or the stars, be not darkened
nor the clouds return after the rain
When fear shall designate the keepers of the house
And the strong men shall bow before the altar
The altar of life which the women will cease bathing
And return home to eternity with their naked curves
Then let the words of the poet echo throughout the tomb
Let not his words be late than the late you

And he stands at the mountain peak
Emitting long loud cries to herald
An unknown destiny,a lifeless hour and says
It was a day of wind, clouds and rain
And the clouds, as usual, did not disperse after the shower
they returned, covered the face of heaven with blackness
Such that even Jesus missed the entrance
The windows thereafter was darkened
The storm came and the strong men were paralysed
And the grinders of mill ceased from terrified toil
And the women imprisoned in the harem 
The revellers shall no longer be interested in the streets
The twitting of birds caused a sudden anxious surprise

As the terror of the storm, the poet continues his harbinger
Preparing the minds of men for a day
That darkness shall be no different from light
For out of darkness cometh light
And the light of man is darkness visible
Like men lust for a stripper's waist that wave like a flag
And the women pray for the faith of their husbands
So it will come and its comes voluntarily
To dance out the romance in our waist
And take every breath we owned gently away
Here comes death, the funniest friend of man

Man will go to his home of everlasting resting
And the mourners shall keep his grave lively
Consoled by the keeper of the cemetery
Who best knows death and its brotherhood
Whatever man may have been, good or bad
Death brings equal terror to all
A man may have been rich
Like the golden hung on a silver chain in the palace
Or as poor as the earthen pitcher used to fetch water from the well
What his state was matters not the time
Death is dreadful to one as to the other
Vanity of vanity; all is vanity
Security will lose its power when it knocks
When the last hour comes, you feel it
But not when the minute is due nor the second

There is a secret in six feet down a grave.
And I hope you find it in this prophesy

The poet wipes off his tears and decends the mountain