I put all words from this life on a
clay wall... All poems overflowing from me is the scar of life itself
... it is my sing, my sonet, my bliss. My joy is to be always in
love, if this secret pulse is away, this hand which draw the universe
lines, would lose itself in the ufocused maneirisms inside the
sophists freezing cauculus night...What echoes is more than I can
tell, it is more than I can imagine...
(Sam Bodhanam)
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