Deep lies the truth, unfathomed,
you cannot touch it.
Crossing the faceless matrix,
do not reach the level,
reasoning flattens the spikes.
On sand,
elixir falls like drops from awakening.
Arising from sorrow,
mustiness fills your eyes.
This was truth or untruth,
two strokes of madness,
wedged between night and sun.
Silence becomes an eloquent speech.
Each day brings silly statements wearing artful masks.
Commentary on a vision fails.
Right versus wrong.
The contents of conflict always linked the fear with poverty
of a Being.
The involuted self uncurls a scheme of war
with a big world.
Now the smiles catch a butterfly to imitate the colors.
