He looked at his hands
in wonder
as if
mind and body grew apart and
real-ized
I can move my hands, my fingers
eyes, he looked above and again
as if mind and body grew apart
he realized
I can think; this might be my soul
So why do I live
he asked himself
Why do I live
He wondered
He was a child
Maybe eight or nine
He was only a child
when he asked these questions
and the pain of not knowing grew even bigger when
someone in his village died
Then he would turn to his grandmother
Thinking, maybe adults knew better
He would turn to her
and look at her
and ask her
Why do I live
She would look at him,
staringly, and say
“I don’t know”
He was a child
Maybe eight or nine
He was only a child
when he asked these questions
and the pain of not knowing grew even bigger when
someone in his village died
Today he sits there, calmly
His hair grew white
Bones became weary
And life left lines on his face
Today he looks at the lines of his hands again
and tells the story of how he
looked at them
in wonder
as if
mind and body grew apart and
real-ized
I can move my hands, my fingers
eyes, he
looks above and again
as if mind and body grew apart to
real-eyes [*1]
I can think; this might be my soul
So why do I live
he asks himself
Why do I live
He wonders
—
Notes:
[*1] https://www.facebook.com/SOULSHAPING/posts/at-some-point-we-realeyes-that-its-time-to-live-from-my-book-love-it-forward/10156840556585982/