What do you think
Is it essence of the life itself?
Is it pain or the crude cover it wears?
Is it the reality or the emotion through which
it express itself?
But whatever itis, I want you to recognise,
That it is the real against fictitious,
Life against its imagination,
The perody against the original stanza,
But why are you bothered by its artifact?
Both are the one; fact is in sequence
Of order of coming one after another
It is only of kiss after affectionate desire.
