Poetry fell on his body, full of delusions and delusions, until it became a river that spilled over itself. Full of waiting, anxious about every step, and desperate from every rush towards the world, nesting on his chest a mountain of laziness, contentment in the record of the missing .. So will things be? Is that how I'm going to live cool? He used to say .. life is a great swing, feelings are rented, culture is jealous and jealous, and success is a demanding master. To what wealth do we go up? We are born with a shivering light, so the darkness of the earth is bent into swallowing it until extinction, convictions escape from our quarries, we are chasing after the truth of others fleeing from our truth, we build fortressful and weak fortresses that we call me better than you and you without me, tell me, is this not nonsense? My friend, you are now and you were in the past while you were in the following, just fragments of clay torn apart by days, so fly in your inner peace, and do not ascend crowded stairs, build a dormitory for you dormant, and search for happiness in all things, you will find it in the stillness of the nights, and the sway of a branch On the melody of the wind, the look of a child, and the flutter of a bird's wing, and you will not find a tale of hope that is brighter than the smile of a poor fractured, so and so only you find yourself, your soul was endured by the grief of separation after you threw it in the tracks of oblivion, so can you return everything as it was?
My friend, take my advice: go back to you and don't look for you.
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Build a sleeper for you as a dormitory, and look for happiness in all things.