In rivers channels i see green earth's blood flows red ,the statement of the agony,the planet says in pain.
From the corner of my eye, I see the rider’s armor shine in silver as he knocks his horse through the portal.
In his hand is the sword that glitters of defiance.


The past is like an ink that won’t dry ,it lays in a permanent position just as the effect of time, the latter being a great artist who is painting his own masterpiece.
When the light gently nudging at my body and dark low-lying clouds catch the sun into itself, I spend a soft evening.


The sheer silence and the looks of extenuation are like endless echoes of the supremacy of...