Life Is But A Measured Count Of Breaths Poem by Mohammad Younus

Life is but a measured count of breaths,
Each inhale and exhale sustains, yet deceives—
For with every rise and fall of the chest,
Death draws nearer, weaving its silent leaves.

Death waits, a lion crouched in shadowed guise,
How can we flee its inevitable claim?
It plucks us like lambs, no plea, no cries,
To end our fleeting world-bound frame.

What space lies between life and death's embrace?
Less than the pause of breaths, in and out.
Azrael rings the bell, a somber grace,
As our ship sails beyond, no doubt.

I jest not—prepare for the journey ahead,
Each soul must taste the cup of death's design.
Yet drink it with mystic joy, as Socrates said,
For in its depths, a strange light may shine.

—Mykoul