that which is Owned

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

not much for me to say, His are the clouds, the rain, whether or not i subsist, or simply evaporate. He may take away from my conception, every notion i've ever had of family or friends, trifle disappointments snowballing into an avalanche of agonizing ignorance. i did not think, He would do such a thing, but it's like i'm unknown even to my closest of kin, even after decades plus, like no connection of mine, safe from decay or mistaken trust. Rabb, what would you have of me? these states in times of late, withered tree without what it sustains, nothing for me to give, except if You wish my flesh and bones still, to move in form of worship. i have conceived in the mind things i dare not speak, anguished, petulant, aggrieved, looking for the closest cliff, but holding back because You own my every thing. i could say that You took away my heart, not once but twice (or thrice, who keeps count?), ripped straight from the cavity, reminding me what i miss, but keeping it an orbit's length away from me. i could say that i am one most betrayed, disillusioned by every one of life's illusion, promising it holds what i seek but when i get close, it fades before my hands can grasp what i need. in times past would i close all doors, strain all ties, stay from life, apart and deprived, but i cannot...obligation and responsibilities, a pillar of form absent essence in moments like these, this skeleton will keep on its moving, on and on, until it finds its peace.