An Immortal Thing

This poem is written by my friend in Bulgaria, Liuba. It is her response to my morbid themed poetic ramblings about love, death, etc. She wrote this near Halloween and I really like it. I am sharing it since I haven't sorted through any of my own poems or written any new ones at the moment.

For everything, anytime may come their hour for death
What can be if death forgets?
Will we stay for forever, without sense for time?
To see others come and go?

What will happen with bones, with brain, with soul?
Ah yes, soul is immortal they told, and may be right
So the soul will have not any problem
But what if bones become very old and body still moves and walks?

Will they be broken? How will they move?
Will they bend under their burden?
Could a human creep like a snail with flexible bones?
Or bones will be brittle like glass?

What will come to be with the muscles and flesh?
Would they decay and rot?
Will old spoiled flesh fall from the bone?
Or will it be parched over them?

Will the brain be able to think?
Will it be so clever and wise?
What can the soul do as an immortal thing
When the body stops to work?

What about the heart? what about blood?
What about feelings of love and hate?
Will existance be so sad?
Or will it be ok, or magically nice?

What If body converts into fairy fog?
Like a spirit of air and light
Would gravity still keep it on earth?
What will be, and how it will work?

Well... death is too old, like life, i can guess
And no one ever forgets
And maybe that is better,
In other case, what kind will life be at all?