4 W's and 1 H of death
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4 W’s and 1 H of Death

Like a shadow that falls on the land when night comes, death arrives. Nothing is gentle or graceful about it’s arrival. It is not some such poetry in motion, too beautiful to behold. It is not a red, red sunset and glorious music in the background. It is not at all beautiful. But it’s not ugly either. If anything it is laughable. Like a joke, unexpected, punchline delivered with such zest where you find yourself rolling on the floor, hand on your stomach, shaking with laughter minutes after it was said.

Death is laughable. Because it is unexpected. There may be a design or a sequence or some magic which tells on whose door death will knock next. But this design, this sequence, this magic . . . yes, wholly illogical, totally irrational. UNEXPECTED. Like an A+ on an F paper submitted two weeks after the deadline.

Who’s to say who deserves a visit from death first? Who can say who deserves a visit from death last? No one.

And we go on with our lives, uncaring, not thinking, knowing full well that it will come, yet confident that it will come later. Not now, but LATER. As if later cannot be a week from now, tomorrow or one second after.

What will come? Death will come.
To Whom? To each of us.
Where? In this land of dreaming people filled with foolish pride.
But How will it come? It will come UNEXPECTEDLY.
When? LATER.

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