Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Dream or reality there is no eternal bliss,
Even all joyous state will eventually cease
It is important to remind and to think
That change in life could happen faster than a blink
 And so live everyday, like it's your last, 
A day makes a year and it goes by fast.
Devoid from attachment
Recognize all things as illusion
Even our mere existence as a human

Sometimes i feel rushed
…..i feel my dreams got crushed
sometimes i feel pretty lonely
despite of having people around me
sometimes i loose my sanity
some things doesn’t make sense to me
sometime i feel angry about injustices
my defensive instincts wants to stop this
And sometimes i get excited, no reason at all

Sometimes I go deep in my thoughts
So deep that I reach a different place
A place I feel much happier and free
Different things I see
Things I can’t experience consciously

Sometimes I drift away at sleep
To an imaginary land 
Where things are less complicated
And easy to understand

I have plans for the moon
By night and by day
sometimes opening, sometimes closing
a seeing which does not depend on the eye
and an eye which does not merely see.
The moon gets behind me
and flows like a stream
inside a mountain
many dark miles unseen
before emerging as the source
of something pure that will heal me.

I have plans for the moon
like the sunflower nodding in the mind
shifts and keeps an eye
on father sun in the sky
resemblance does not depend on closeness
but the transfer of heat and invisible elements.
In the cool of the evening
a trail appearing through the dew
where an animal walks with a god
and man is missing from the middle.

I have plans for the moon
as the moon has plans for me.