Sometimes I become so stubborn,
that I question—
from which essence was I born?
Sometimes I feel too grand,
that I question—
who placed my small feet on this land?
Sometimes I think I know everything,
that I question—
who gave me all these things?
At the end of the day, when no one stays,
I become so alone,
that I question—
“Why do You stay, even when I
do not stay easy, yet offer You only a throne?”
Those eyes smile at me,
pat my head, and say…
“We are here always, even when all things are gone.”
Jan 5
Jan 5, 2026 at 8:14 AM UTC
Sometimes I become so stubborn,
that I question—
from which essence was I born?
Sometimes I feel too grand,
that I question—
who placed my small feet on this land?
Sometimes I think I know everything,
that I question—
who gave me all these things?
At the end of the day, when no one stays,
I become so alone,
that I question—
“Why do You stay, even when I
do not stay easy, yet offer You only a throne?”
Those eyes smile at me,
pat my head, and say…
“We are here always, even when all things are gone.”
I am unable to title it, so I let this work on my respected
readers, please Title it, with feeling you feel while reading it