Like others, in the speeching tone, melancholy, that
trembles throughout lands. Moon glow and Sun’s
rays. As masterpieces of any art, were not intended
for this age, period, any culture or the whole spectrum
of civilizations. They had landed here on earth, mere
mistakes. But the imprisonment of thy mind, worse
than living in bitterness, it’s the blasphemy of this life
constantly slapping you. Where you’re never ending
in clarity of mind and conscious, nowhere you go, the
world would an environment equal or greater than
your inner-world. Rise up above art and life. And
commit oneself to death.