The mystery of death

There is nothing stranger than death.
It's a freak accident
To become something.. nothing..
Mourning clothes....pavilions..music..censers..and bedding in their theatrical clothes. We are as if we are watching a novel.. and we do not believe it, and no one seems to believe it.
Even the mourners who walk behind the dead only think of walking. And the children of meth think only of inheritance.
and undercarriage They only think of themselves.
And the reciters do not think except of Ajrhom.
Everyone seems concerned about their time, health or money.
And everyone hastens to do something, fearing that he will miss something.. Something that is not death, and because death happens within us every moment, even when we are alive. Every drop of saliva, every tear... and every drop of sweat.. contains dead cells that spread them out without celebration.
Millions of red balls are born, live, and die in our blood without knowing anything about them.. And likewise white balls.. The cells of the flesh, fat, liver, and intestines are all short-lived cells that are born and die, and others are born and die. To feel that something has happened.
With every inhalation and exhalation, oxygen enters like butane gas into the oven of the liver, which burns the meat and generates heat that cooks new meat for us to add to our shoulders. This heat is life.
But it is also burning... death is in its core... and destruction is in its nature... so where is the surprise when each of us is like a coffin crawling on two legs?! Each of us carries his body on his shoulders at every moment.