Things in essence are
the same though interpreted...

Woods are born to burn
It is the trees burning to...

I love and you leave
and then I leave, and you love...

We keep on going
for we are not really...

It was raining.
Wind was straining...

Why just the violin can speak the truth
when all the sounds are disingenuous...

Everything is running,
seemingly towards somewhere...

When the truth is not lonely!
When the truthful is not one and only...

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

My pains have increased,
so have I, my tolerance...

Somewhere in distance
boundaries would bind together...

Where we kiss each other
we are two faces...