The Roof

You deprived me of
wealth, intelligence,
recognition—
you, my gathered
destination of faith,
my organisation of work,
of strengths and debilities.

I had my family beside me;
you took that away too.

My only resource left
was my health.

Then, one by one,
my organs sang in chorus:
damaged, defective—
we give in.

And then, all of a sudden,
despite the failing body,
complete loneliness
you came unto me,
wholeheartedly.

I had never been
so full,
so adequate,
so content.

What a wonder
to discover the light
in you,
the glow of happiness,
the quiet yearning
to want nothing more.

The roof that was never
there in the room
sheltered me now—
not from the storm,
but with calmness,
with respite,
with the strange peace
of finally needing nothing.