The mystery of death

Author's name: Mustafa Mahmoud

There is nothing stranger than death
It's a freak accident.
To become something... nothing
Mourning clothes...the tent...the music...the incense burners...the attendants in their theatrical costumes. It's as if we're watching a novel...and we don't believe it, and no one seems to believe it.
Even the mourners who walk behind the deceased think only of the journey. And the children of the deceased think only of the inheritance.
Shopkeepers think only of their own account, and reciters think only of their reward.
Everyone seems to be worried about their time, health or money.
And everyone is hastening something he fears to miss... something that is not death. Because death happens inside us at every moment, even while we are alive, every drop of saliva, every tear... and every drop of sweat... contains dead cells that circulate it to the outside without celebration.
Millions of red blood cells are born, live and die in our blood without us knowing anything about them. The same applies to white blood cells, meat cells, fat cells, liver cells and intestine cells. They are all short-lived cells that are born and die, and others are born and die. Their bodies are buried in the glands or expelled in the secretions quietly and silently, without us feeling that anything has happened.
With every inhalation and exhalation, oxygen enters the liver's oven like a stove, burning the flesh and generating heat that cooks new meat for us to add to our shoulders. This heat is life.
But it is also burning... death is at its core... and destruction is in its nature... where is the surprise then, when each of us is like a coffin crawling on two legs?! Each of us carries his own corpse on his shoulders at every moment.