Through time and space it hurtled
seeking me out,
hunting me down, wherever I may be.
That bullet inscribed with my name,
my inexorable date with destiny.
The cutting down of my flourishing tree.
Was it by God's divine intervention?
or just the haphazardness of luck
that I managed to elude its arrival
this time.
More will be sent
of that there can be no doubt,
but at least this time I celebrate
the fact of having staved off,
or, better said, delayed,
the inevitable infliction of being struck.
More will come
more will seek me out
with certainty shall I be eventually befallen.
The luck I hold will not last,
but for now for whatever mysterious reason,
by whichever hand of whomsoever,
I celebrate the fact that I am still here,
still standing,
against all the odds.
Facing the strong winds
that have tried their utmost to cut me down
like a tree not rooted deeply enough
in the shifting sands underfoot.