We

Crying, I give my empty hands,
my body is wrapped in disease
it is going, disappearing, decaying …
What is it that ate you?
What is it that put you to sleep?
What is it that killed you?
We.
The sky is blooming,
the water is clearing,
the tears are transparent.
We killed you.
Slowly. Painfully. Longevity.
Your illness. We.
But you must understand one thing,

we have never asked for it.
We. We are not to blame.

more by URSULA RABAR BABIC