If you're reading this, it means you’re still alive. It means air is still going in and out of your lungs. But know this: what you’re holding is not just an obituary. It is a message from the graveyard to the living. A quiet whisper from the world that waits for us all. This is not only about one person who has died. This is about all of us who will die. You. Me. Everyone. Because “no one gets out of this life alive”.

They have died; the proud, the powerful, the empowered fool, the rich, the rulers and the ruled. The ones who walked as if they owned the earth. The ones who shouted, threatened, showed off. The ones who laughed, who loved, who planned endlessly. They are now silent. The same ground they once stepped on has swallowed them. And soon, it will be our turn.

This world is not our home. It’s just a stopover. A departure hall. A transit camp. A short visit. We are here for a few breaths only. Every heartbeat is not a sign of life; it is a reminder of how much less time we have. You may have a title, wealth, beauty, or fame; but none of that matters when death comes. Death removes every mask. It treats everyone the same; kings and beggars, presidents and prisoners.

The one who just died once held power. People feared him. Few fools praised him. Yet,  today, not even his own family can stop the ants from crawling into his mouth. The hands that once signed orders now lie still. The mouth that once snubbed others now cannot complain about the weight of the soil above him. The question now is not, “Was he successful?” but “Was he kind? Was he just? Did he leave wounds, or did he leave blessings?”

Death is not an enemy. It is the only honest friend we have. It reminds us that our time is limited, and that we must live wisely. Yet we act like we will live forever. We buy things we don’t need; with the money we don’t have; to impress people we don’t know. We hold grudges we should let go of, and chase power that will vanish in seconds once we stop breathing.

Some say, “I am this, I am that I built this, I control that.” At the slightest altercation…come here grammar: “ do you know who I is?” But death turns every “I am” into “I was.” One moment you are giving orders, the next moment they are digging your grave. Death is not impressed by titles. It doesn’t respect anyone’s position. It doesn’t take bribes. It doesn’t delay appointments. It doesn’t care about your popularity.

So, the real question is this: What are we doing with our time? Are we spending our hours pleasing God? Or are we just making noise, building our egos, trying to win arguments that don’t matter? If we cannot leave the world better, at least let us not make it worse.

Some people leave behind memories that bring tears. Others leave behind scars. Which one will you be?

Let us not wait until we are in the grave to ask for forgiveness. Let us not wait until we can no longer breathe before we try to fix our hearts. If you cannot help someone, at least don’t harm them. If you cannot make people smile, at least don’t make them say “Allah ya isa” because of you.

There is no VIP section in the graveyard. There are no rich graves. There are no poor graves. Just dust. Just silence. Just truth. The good you did will stay. The harm you caused will follow you. So, plant goodness everywhere; because the seeds you plant now are what will grow in the hereafter.

We carry death inside us every day. It sleeps beside us. It eats with us. It listens when we speak. But we pretend we are in control. We chase followers online. We crave attention. We become hungry for power and control. But the ground is hungry too. And it is never full. It waits for everyone.

This “obituary” is not a warning. It is a wakeup call. Because while we are still breathing, we can change. We can repent. We can forgive. We can become someone whose death will bring tears of love, not sighs of relief.

To the rulers and the mighty, your power is on loan. Return it with humility, or it will be taken with disgrace. To the activists, your voice is needed but let your heart be pure. Do not let anger become your god. To the silent ones, speak when needed. Your silence can be as deadly as a sword. And to all of us, rich or poor, old or young, known or unknown, this is our time to build our account with Allah. One good deed at a time. One kind word at a time. One prayer at a time.

Life is like a candle. Some blow out early, some burn longer. But all fade eventually. We don’t know how much time we have left. We don’t know how many more breaths are written for us. So let us not waste a single one. Let us not waste another day on hatred, pride, or gossip. Let us be people who heal, not people who hurt. People who give, not people who take. People who leave behind a fragrance, not a stench and a stain.

Here lies the man who thought he had more time. Here lies the woman who said, “maybe tomorrow.” Here lies the person who always blamed others. Here lies the one who never said sorry. Here lies every one of us … sooner or later.

So, before we lie down forever, let us stand up for what matters. Let us live in a way that our death will teach, not just shock. Let us fill our life with actions that will continue to benefit others even after we are gone. Let us be remembered for mercy, not for meanness.

Because truly, *no one gets out of this life alive.*