In it, every tick of the clock is as loud as Kenwood. All the lingering memories, become fresh. We comprehend the lyrics of music.
Photo credit: refugefoundation
And the past comes like a Television screen, we imagine the future through a big cinema screen.
In it, is astral, tranquilled as a still water,
in it, is the mind, worried as a wounded lover, despair's art becomes artistic than Piccasso's drawing.
Peace either gets a better creativity than Leornado Da' Vinci's art.
In it, we have death, and life, death in life,
life in death, naked humaneness,
imcomparably pure, even to immaculacy.
Solitude in you; is the perfect Aura.
E. O. Falode, Pelfald,
Esq.
# HUMAN
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