Every day there is work all day, and people around. Every day it seems that in the work of that day, in the conversation of that day, all the words of that day are understood at the end of the day. There is no time to understand what is left inside.
This morning, the sky is full of clouds. Even today there is work all day in front, and there are people around. Today, however, it seems that everything inside and out cannot be finished.
People crossed the sea, climbed the mountain, cut a hole in the underworld and stole the gems, but they could not do anything about it.
Today, on a cloudy morning, the words of my captive rust in my mind. The people inside are bald; "Where is that one of my eternal ones, who will snatch away all the rain from my heart's broken clouds!"
Today, on a cloudy day in the morning, when I heard the word inside, the chain of the closed door shook. Thinking, “What do I do! Who is there who will climb the fence of work and now my words will come out in the convergence of the world with the lamp of melody in hand? Who is there who, in the twinkling of an eye, all my scattering pain will in one moment be bound in joy, in one light? He may ask me to set the right tone, that I can only give him. Which corner of the road is my beggar? ”
The pain in my inner court today is geruyabson pareche. Wants to get out of the way, out of all the work, out of the way, like a single straight wire, like any other star, no matter what kind of person it is.