Is any thing wrong with that?
A fresh red rose
With dear’s eyes
And sand dune body
Basking on the sun
Under a coconut tree
Immersed in a dreamland
An inner world
A world with no right or wrong
But eternity
Inaction being the action
Has nothing
Wants nothing
But a sense to
Observe
Absorb
And preserve
Look at me
All psyched up
For fame and position
For richness outside
With no end in sight
Night becomes my day
Days roll over
one onto another
I work and work
To fill the open space between
My birth and death
But where is the end?
What is the end?
And how is my life
Better than hers?
((*.*))
October 4, 2000
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