Ownership
A poem to question our view of ownership.
Despite what you might think
you do not own any land.
It has no reason to harbour you.
Hear it from a fellow stranger.
Even your flesh is not entirely yours.
Mosquitoes choose their patch to probe.
Your blood is wine.
It flows in veins
to nourish legions.
Mice feed on casual generosity.
Trees burn, but you never struck a match.
You may believe in hope
for you belong to homo sapiens
despite what you might think.
Anjo Lafin
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