Poetry

God, in spite of what life brings to me,
in spite of how much money I earn, of what work I do,
in which residential aria I live, what car I drive
and if I have to walk or drive by motorbike
on the road that I travel, it is still at Your door
that I stand each day.
In spite of the words that I do write,
how bad or great they may be,
it makes me nothing else
than the human being that gets all things from you
and still I am bounded to You
for my light in this life’s darkness.