In the night of grief

I wonder in the night of grief,
If I just now cease to be,
Who will get to know it first?
Will they cry for long or brief?
How will they accept this God's decree?

After placing me in my grave,
With dirt, they will give me shade,
Then they will head towards their homes,
Leaving me alone in a place like cave,
Where they will no longer be able to bade.

With this thought, I badly shivered,
Told myself this is not the case,
Not prepared yet for my life here-after,
Then how can I be so ill-considered?
How can I draw such a trace?