oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt--
the throbbing of the heart's unhealing burn--
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt?

I whine too much for one who's life's so curt,
when far worse lives are lessons to be learned,
oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt?

for others have not shoes to wear or shirt,
and neither have they roof or floor to yearn,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt,

remains the fabric of their pants and skirt,
yet on my satin sheets I toss and turn,
so, who am I that I may moan my hurt?

I've lost a brother, in this pain I churn
my heart, my cries for him are always spurned,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt

is what we are, become, in time so short,
with nothing more than hope of a return,
oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt?

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos