A few called me a saint;
but I don't know what to do with those
who call my names for no reason.
Inking the pact of peace...
I know my rise and fall
in everything I do.
How come a fish remains to be a fish all the time in water!
Humility links a million questions on the silence of sorrows.
I kill my vacuum in print.
My pen knows my language of heart and mind.
I want to fly around the world of roses without thorns.
All I know is nothing
but silent sobbing of the wayside beggars,
without food and water...
Waiting for the bliss of autumn of life.
