Death Milad

As I get older I don’t dread death coming closer. 
It is closer.  
It will come as a newborn:
seeding so long in me, 
that I would chide it for taking its time.   
I will not scream when it head comes out my body.
I won’t even be amused by such a Hollywood trick.
And when its held before my eyes 
trickling with all my blood
I will simply reach out and hold it close 
to my chest, 
run my fingers over its head
until it stops wailing, 
grows silent- 
and there is nothing left for me to say to it,
nothing left to do 
but  kiss this  life of mine, 
shed a joyful yet mournful tear 
and wait for it and myself 
to fall asleep.