Mertolulut: Swordsman Sakti Without a Tanding

Gubug2

Sometimes it is difficult, very difficult, to see this beautiful earth, no more beautiful, when your heart, my heart, is linked in a state of uncertainty.

It is amazing, it makes us lulled, unimaginable, indescribable, with anything, because it becomes a, a memory, ever more memorable, when the heart recalls, it recalls, old events are twisted, behind the reality of self.

Our mystery, this mystery, and the mystery, in which we become just a little blob, a mystery that is too long, to live, throughout our lifetime.

From the beautiful, and super-wide, which cannot be measured, can only be looked at, as far as the limit of the eye, to the more curious. So, the limits of the eyes will be further stopped.

The earth is a place of food, a place of production, until it becomes a journey of life, for it will stop and return to earth, at the end of a darkness.

Wrong between right, what is then done, is never right, but tries to do right, so as to improve.

The waters flowed and stopped in a vast ocean, where all the stories were gathered, to join the great final stop.

The bend of the shahdu, the more twisted, the more shahdu, in a straight section, which is so easy to pass, but stopped by the twist of a mystery, to momentarily stop the pace, think of a moment, to moment, what is worth doing next. And one merges, in union with such a vast universe, wrapped in an infinite universe, which reaches the edges of thought.

The vast rice field, filled with green plants, which will be another seed, will be fertile rice, to become food in everyday life.

High mountain, as high as the desire, which will increasingly want to reach its coolness, at the precipice, and will be easy to reach the sky. But never affordable. To feel like a dwarf star. Who wants to be big.

Forming a dozen forests, shelter of all trees, animals, will also be savage weather. Cold, damp, languishing. In solitude. And the trees bear witness to the beautiful silence of nature. To be home. For his followers. The roof shaded itself, the atmosphere and the wetness of silence, by the accompanying rain. So that wet the banana stems into a bandage that frames the edges.

Back at the star, his flickers adorned the sky, which was infinitely broad, to the tip of the eye. The more the eye wants to know, to the extent that the limit.

An empty space, where there is your heart, my heart, which is empty. And the moon, its coldness illuminates the heart, without any puff of taste and framed by her graceful smile.

Where it spins, it keeps spinning, it's getting faster and we don't know. A white chain, strongly bound, unwilling to escape, by a desire, so that it is not far away, and can continue to be guarded, by the strength of the black.

Darkness, as dark as anything, hope, a broken desire, by the shackles of other, unattainable desires.

The grayness of the heart gets stronger when the pain also accompanies the untraceable to return.

Empty, leaping, full of falsehood, will empty the atmosphere, will self fragile and shackled to the emptiness of the soul, without anything and without anyone. Swallowing saturation, grief so that the more crowded the mood and let, the more can not ignore the pain.

And the time range, unreachable, not easily lost, to return at the time that reached it. That time.

To penetrate beyond the limits, where impenetrable, to the convoluted heart, blazing, in a spirit, to improve itself, so that it becomes more certain, will be the beauty of the atmosphere.

Curiosities. The faded, will continue to fade, as far as curiosity is concerned, completely gone, gone, from desire.