Death is not meeting pending. It comes together with a birth in this life.
When we sleep, read, work, walk, even while praying; he was not always on our side.. but it is written in the book of fate.
Death came like an old friend, greeted by polite, so that the owner of the soul realized, then, the end is in front of the eye.
There was no place to hide. There was no time to feel sorry for myself.
When we breathe, we realize how precious breathing between death and life.
When we breathe, we realize, sometimes wasted life, to pick up the end of life, with a pile of regret.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem