Where everything is versified to be uttered
and sublime is not external and pretended...

Am I a gem wrapped in cotton balls,
or a worm, inside the flesh of an apple...

So deep in my ears
there is a song...

An unbitten apple
is the apple that is dined by its own worms...

Those who've beavered hard
to brush me away by their brooms...

A samurai's strike, like in an oval,
jolts from one pivotal point to the other...

This is
the Saba’s* weft of waft...

One must search music
deep in within, that one may...

A dandelion was yielding to its yawn
on the fluffy mattress of sunshine...

How unlimited
we are, limiting ourselves...

Life is not easy
for easiness is death, hence...

Every meaning is there
amid meaninglessness...