The Seven Minutes Poem by Mohammad Abdullah

He lay on his death bed,
His clothes dripping with red.
To help him, they're craving,
But alas! He's far beyond saving.
He seems to breathe his last,
And in his mind flashes his past.
His entire life, like a movie goes,
As water, along a stream flows.
The mingling winds, the rustling leaves,
The chilly nights, the days without grieves.
His mother's love, his father's affections,
The solitude in oxymoronic successions.
His first love, that first sight,
The first kiss, the first fight.
His wedding day, with emotions high,
The first child, his first cry.
The break in, the masked men,
He got shot, he doesn't know when.
Then all fades, all turns bright,
His eyes, dazzled by light.
A majestic creature descends from the height,
Angelic wings, divine looks, celestial might.
It holds his hand and penetrates the sky,
But as he ascends, he lets out a sigh.
In the heavenly winds, he glides,
From his vessel, his soul slides.
Seven minutes, the summary of life,
Seven minutes, the conclusion of all strife.