You all die, I don't want to die

I saw her after thirty years,
Old and blind she lay in the bed.
No sense of space or time she had,
But one thing was clear in her head:
She wanted to live and never die.

She could do nothing by herself.
She needed feeding and bathing.
She needed bed-pans brought to her bed.
She wailed and constantly cried:
"You all die, I don't want to die."

When told I was her son.
I don’t know if she really realized,
But she held my hand in her hand,
Kissed and went on beating her chest,
Wailing: “you all die, I don't want to die."

Her picture I took while she lay half-dead,
Looking as if she were a devil in bed,
Crying fearing hell after death.
She would rather make life a living hell
Than thank her maker for a long life.

I had heard stories of people welcoming death
And going peacefully to heaven or hell.
The more she resisted, the more she suffered
At ninety-five still wanting to hold on to life.
Why? Why? I wondered what was in her head.

Perhaps she never lived her life.
Her parents died when she was a child.
Raised by her uncle till thirteen
And then married off to an ignorant man,
A selfish, hateful, heartless, uncivil man.

Bearing eleven babies till in her fifties,
Three dead, eight survived, all raised
In loveless self-made false poverty.
Only loving her husband till widow at eighty five.
Kids got no love, they'd no love now to give.

Having lived a long miserable life,
Why would she go on clinging to life?
Perhaps she lived on hope in life.
Perhaps she didn't know what was life.
Perhaps she thought she had eternal life.

Perhaps...

She never realized love matters in life.
At least for those you give birth to.
At least for those you live and die.
What a wretched way to live a life!
What a wretched way to die a life!

"You all die, I don't want to die."