Death: Another Agony

I respect death. I respect and bow down in awe to anything that can make a permanent difference in someones life. Whether it's a teenagers first drag from a cigarette or a virgin's first night of sex. These things last as either stains or blemishes or even as exciting stories for a lucky few who see life as an exciting ride. Life should be exciting.
Life should be as exciting as sitting on a blind, wild horse that's running towards the edge of a cliff. Getting onto such a horse isn't hard since the blind animal doesn't know of your approaches. Getting off it is impossible unless you wish be break a few bones and get trampled to death. All you can hope for is to steer the horse away from the edge of the cliff as long as you can so that it doesn't end up falling to its death with you still on its back. This is why I respect death. It is the ultimate, effective part of our life that we are destined to reach at some point or the other. Happy are those who await death with eagerness and happiness. But alas, from these are some who await it with hope to find what lies beyond the edge of the cliff. They meet death with a different perspective in their head and are disappointed at what the real eternity holds. I wonder if the morbid protagonist of my narration managed to steer the blind horse off the cliff long enough...

... I was on my way from work to meet a few companions. It was a warm afternoon and the train seemed abnormally empty. I took my place at the door as it is what I prefer these days since the insides of the compartment are simply blazing. All was bliss as I felt the warm breeze whip across my weary face. The steadily moving train screeched to a sudden hault and I held my head in despair as I knew that I would be delayed. I stood on the door, feeling alone like I always do when I stand there. The sun was bright and was doing a pretty good job in cheering me up. As I gazed at the mangroves I suddenly felt a plunging cold in me. The sky didn't seem too bright to me anymore. I felt strange, as if something terrible was on its way toward me... And then I heard it. I heard the shuffling of feet over gravel and a few weary grunts. I could not gather what this meant as the stopped train was now trying my patience. The sudden glum that filled my being began to clutch my insides with a greater force. I wondered what the sound of the approaching party was about but cared not to turn around to see. And that's when I saw it. Four railway porters were marching down , parallel to the railway line and right under the door where I stood. They looked irate, as if they had an unneccesary package to deliver. Their package however wasn't just unnecessary, it was lifeless. The world stopped around me. My eyes transfixed on a sight that changed a small part of my being. spread cross eagled on a rusted stretcher (that was carried by the four men), was the cadaver of a fresh kill. An old man. 70, maybe 75, dark as could be and dressed in just short briefs. Poverty had ripped pieces of fabric from his measely piece of clothing. His stomach and his hips lay apart from one another as the sharp glint of overflowing gut could easily be seen. He probably slipped udnder the train or killed himself by lying flat on the tracks. As the procession passed I caught sight of the face of the bald greying man.

I have seen death and the face of those who have been kissed by those morbid, cold lips. They have always seemed to be asleep and sometimes even smiling. But that wasn't the case here. This man had anguish written with the wrinkles on his parched face. His mouth was bloody and oozing blood and his eyes looked towards the heavens as if pleading for mercy from eternal pain. There was no peace for this man in his life and even if I am wrong then the condition of his being scream for my cause. But it is death that brings peace to troubled hearts. And that's what I thought only till that day. Those 10 seconds in which the many concepts of death flushed down my mind...

Death isn't peace after all. It comes with a layer of filth and maggots that infest into your flesh one yor are taken off a velvet coffin. Blessed are you if you have a velvet coffin. For someone I just saw didn't have clothing and apparently no food for days. Was death a blessing or another thorn in this path of weeds. I'll never know. He is someone who mounted an impossibly insane mule. Not even a horse. The cliff moved toward him faster than it should have. It is injustice.


Two weeks after the incident I saw a peculair handwritten note stuck up in a train that showed an image of a well dressed, old man, beaming at the camera with a sparkle in his eyes. The title mispelt 'MISING'...