It's 3:00 P.M.

the land is now in spring, where beautiful flowers and wild tares grow, side by side; it’s 3:00 p.m. when my spirits stopped wandering…and listens to the echoes of immortalities as the passing wind sighs between the past and the future between the heaven and the earth thou, I was not there, when the land spilled out and died, ‘cos of hatred and greediness and self ambition; but i am here, right now lying, silently, with a cul-de-sac as my pillow, on this grassy field thanking them…and thinking… what life would be, without them--- the fallen whisperers, who gave themselves for us, to breathe this afternoon air?