To have a life, but not to be its
Possessor.
To live a life but not to
Own it.
This is a relationship with,
Something so ordinary
Yet so mysterious.
To be alive is to live
With this most ordinary
Of mysteries.
To know that your life
Is yours.
Yet does not belong
To whom it is given.
Daily, hourly, minute by minute
And second by second,
Someone or something
Loses the gift of life,
And ceases to be.
life did not belong
to whom is was given!
Written in 2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem