Death strode tall
On his midnight stroll
Ticking names off
His unfurled scroll.
Met a man pious
Deep in solemn prayer
Calling for Salvation
To the Father up there.
Met a woman old
Singing chants and hymns
Pleading for Moksha
From this life of sin.
Met a boy kneeling
His head bowed low.
Praying for Jannah,
If He should grant him so.
Death reaped them all
Torn from blood and bone.
Took away their souls
And kept them for his own.
Met the small girl,
Her gaze reaching his.
"Any last prayer?" asked Death.
"Before I plant my kiss."
"Just tell me if the lad
Mine eyes, now his,"
"Will there be," She asked,
"A smile on his lips?"
Death turned away,
From the girl and her soul.
For her name had faded,
From the scribblings on his scroll.
The poem is a message to promote ***** donation.