The State of Death, Tatar Folk Song (munadjat)
Death is a bitter poison that everyone will taste;
Its arrow never misses, and nobody escapes.
It never says: This is a child, whose loving parents will be left behind
To burn with grief, until their souls are turned to cinders.”
It never says: You’re blooming now; it’s time for you to live.
The man you love more than your own soul will be left miserably alone.
It never says: this person is essential; he has work to do.
It lays waste to hope and fills the mind with fear.
It never says: this one is bad or that one good.
It never hurries to the one who wants it most.
It never says: Poor traveler has he any friends?
It likes to see a lonely man die in a foreign land.
It doesn’t care if you are old or young. Don’t wait for its advice.
It will not heed your calling. It loves the sudden pounce.
Prophets fell silent before it. Great minds couldn’t solve it.
Doctors couldn’t cure it. The majesty of death!
Heroes bow down to it. Kings weep their tears.
It is unshockable. It will take you away.
Death is its name.
People beyond number have passed through this world,
But no book can teach us how to disobey death.
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