There comes a moment in your life
when we begin to lose:
We lose beloved creatures,
we lose the things
that have delighted our life,
we lose the close connection to life,
we lose years,
we lose too much
and we never know why
we are bound to lose so much.
Each loss bites your heart…
As long as we are young we don't imagine
we could lose, some day,
what we have won
in the fight with life…
We don’t know, that later on,
we'll have to bear with dignity
the renunciations,
without breaking our being
without revolt, without hatred,
but with a gentle detachment,
with a sad regret.
Can our mistakes account
for all these absurd deaths ?
But, my God,
in what moment of life
do we begin to fault ?
Do we fault because we exist
or do we exist for making faults ?