Mine?

In this poem, I reflect upon my existence. Why am I born? Any answer to this question seems incomplete.

I own nothing

Nothing was ever mine.

This form, this soul

It’s possessed by none.

I seem to devour a timeless mine

Though, nothing has been ever mine.

I did nothing, but scream.

Yes! Those were always mine.

I acted but had been seen through!

I see ‘I’ was nothing- but an Ego

I could hear in me- an ungrateful whine.

I desired happiness

Yes! The Ego wanted ecstasy

From sources unwonted

From lofty advances

Then I heard it died- the happiness died.

I desire the truth-

What is it that can ever be mine?

Am I born to chase,

To pursue in haste

All things that go in nobody’s grave?

Because I own nothing

Nothing was ever mine

I live for the want

Of a drop of pure blood

To witness my filthy drains of brine.