In the hollow space inside the soul
It is the universe and the atom.
In a space of good fortune and rebirth, so close to death—
It is present moment and past; divine and crippling; boundless and mortal
Golden with ecstasy and layered in the decay of sorrow  
For a brief moment we are able to see it.
Silently we stare at everything that is
Nostalgia already dripping from every moment
pooling at our feet in the regret of lost time.

Quality has more significance than quantity

Which would you rather choose?

A friend who won't leave you till the end
Or a bunch, talking behind your back as long as they can
A lover which values the word commitment
Or the hoes which pop-ups for the pennies you gave them

Trillions of money which makes you greedy, wanting more
Or a hundred dollar which can help the homeless knocking on your door
30 years of life full of happiness and contentment
Or a hundred though it's filled with chaos and resentment

A prayer from a child filled with uprightness and integrity
Will always be better than a politician creating lists of lies and anomaly

Be it the Bible, or be it Grey
Each defines one of us, be whoever you may!

Behold a leaf, or behold another
Beyond an age,
Won’t learn it any better
Just more will it fray

Still turn all pages around,
One after the other
And at the end will I disclose,
That you were at the cover!

A meagre little advice,
Time would always be scanty
But so would be your knowledge,
If you rush it like a handy!

We had another date, for me a quality time
A situation I always want to have
We shared our laughter with our silliness
Sweetheart, you're my greatest gift from above!

It reverberates with a vast and low drumming across the hollow space inside the soul, occupying simultaneously the distance of the universe itself and the unimaginably minute.

In a space of good fortune and rebirth, so conjunctionally close to death—

It is present moment and past, both godly and cripplingly mortal, to the place that resides between eternity and transience.

Both golden with ecstasy and layered in the decay of sadness,

For a brief moment we are truly able to see it. So silently we stare at ourselves and everything there is, 


And we know.


With nostalgia already dripping from every moment and pooling at our feet in the regret of lost time.

Magazines tell me how
                                           pretty
I am.
School tells me how
                                           smart
I am.
"Friends" tell me how
                                           funny
I am.
Instructor tells me how
                                           talented
I am.

Can't I just be
                                           me?
With no comparative quality necessary?