When the fastest horse loses in the race, it’s a slap on face. When the fiercest warrior falls in the battle, the tragedy should startle. And when the son of a wealthy man groans in hunger, he would be mocked by a neighboring nigger who is a poverty monger. Lips are not created to open at all times, idle talks and unnecessary hilarity should occupy the mouth but sometimes. The extractions that Nature performs on us are there, the little we gather are stolen from here and there. Yet, the vigils we go through, the books we read, the rains that drench, the candles we burn, the races we run and the works we dedicate our days and nights to do not ascertain our success in life. Prayers they say we should say, yet in one way or the other, we have prices to pay. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. No alms given, no blessing collected.

The females… they look for rich males. Not their fault, what is a marriage that will soon have a fault when the coins are finished in the vault? Let poverty comes in through the door; you’ll see love runs out through the window and leave the home sour. The actions… they are designed but refuse to find satisfactions. The sanctions… they put the nation into factions. They say we came to this world to worship God, yet, money is on an island, we have a ship to board. Those who took the holy Ford have found themselves in the mud. If there is no money: to the church no journey. Our world is funny, because without money, we can’t embark on a religious journey. Paradise may be flowing with milk and honey, but if you see a man running, it is definitely after a bill of money.

The arguments thunder in the hall, the dandies are bolted to the mirrors. People run around; people come and leave. Satan dwells in our hearts even in the churches and mosques. The walls speak but we never listen, what matters is the appearance and reputation. The fans roll on the head; people sit by the windows; the young and old in comfortable darkness. The suffering of health and feeding, buried deep beneath the fine outfits. We dance in pride, yet we know deep in our hearts, what we feel.

Endless is everything, it goes and come again like the thunders and the rain. And when you see some winters in the earth, spend some hours with the books, steal some words from the wise, you’ll see, nothing that happens on earth is new. Yellow is never new, it’s only brighter than orange. Beauty is never new, just a heritage of the past. And if I write with no coin in my purse, the nearest future, I believe, is almost around to rescue. And when the fried meat circus in my cheeks, I’ll have a story to tell. It happened; it happens; it will happen; it is ENDLESS.

One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth forever. And the sun has also flashed forth, and the sun has set, and it is coming panting to its place where it is going to flash forth. The wind is going to the south, and it is circling around to the north. Round and round it is continually circling, and right back to its circling the wind is returning. All the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again. (Ecclesiastes 1: 4-7.)

Lord eBay, LeScoth.


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