I saw your death yesterday in your fingers. / It was death like people had in the old days.
If I die my dear ones / Don’t cry for me / For I never cried for anyone
Poem by Tsoltim N Shakabpa: With the setting sun / In the twilight of my days / My work completed
Death does not need a licence to announce itself. It is an independent agent answerable to our karma alone.
We are all late, except him / We are late for the ceremony of death,
Over the eastern hills rises / The smiling face of the moon;