Boundless Suffering

How human it is to be a stone. To be caressed by the lips of moonlight, by the gaze of the sun, how human it is! To grow warm, to listen to the delightful sound of sunrise, to the sound of eternal life on the soft bed of sleep, how human it is. The touch of earth! Good earth! Could the arrangement of my particles not have taken another form? Could I not have become a stone: any stone, of any shape: except this monstrous shape I now have: I! A mine! A killer mine lying in wait for a child’s hands…