A pebble sits

in my hand; the

smooth grey surface

beckoning to be

touched.

The wind blows

but it cannot disturb

my sturdy little pebble

from where it is settled

on my palm.

There are thousands

of other tiny pebbles

around where I am slouched

but none of them touch

me as this one.

I’m as alive as this pebble

with no purpose

in this world,

but to just sit there;

a pebble was never alive.