“I’ll explain in simple terms of suffering…”

“I feel as a rock, oh, not some rock of pretty colors. Not some rock positioned on a rise above a lovely shore… No, just a gray thing forever at rest. There, up a dark alleyway, that opens into a cluttered backyard of some abandoned building. Where debris is left. Where drifting smells of decay spawn.”

“Yet, at times, at season best, an ugly vine leans over the rock. Brings forth a single yellow flower; bending there, as to offer a kiss.”

“Then, whence first snow falls. Clean and levels a glistening white across the unwanted place. And as if eyes peeping above Heavens gate. The tip of the rock waits… last, tears come. Just a moistened squint. Just a hint… I can go on… and on…