As I sit alone on this waterfront bench

I see these ladies, walking briskly in the sunlight

One holding a little one against her heart

The other pushing it on four strolling wheels

They are talking, walking, laughing, holding

And I am wondering

Writing what it must feel like

To be able to hold on to your own life

Between your palm

To feel it move

Inside and outside you

It’s almost moving me

To see such preciousness being alive

Right in front of my squinting eyes

And realising that I’ll only be able to watch it

The eternity of life itself

My arms are not long enough

Not strong enough anymore

To bare the weight of a little us

And I wonder

As I sit here

Watching them taking care of existence

If they even realise

That I’ll never be one of them

And that I will forever remain

The old lady writing on the bench





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