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I stepped into the hallway of the house of pain. Plastic reality.Footsteps against the drawn curtains Am I alive?The feeling must be paid for.The price of a feeling, the price of a glance at the clouds. So I wonder, have we all gone mad? Are we all lost, amorphous In some foggy passageway? Are we all abandoned, confused. Our footsteps as if we’re made of glass yet walking over sharp floors… Do you not know what lies deep inside of me…As if it was in a black ocean knitted of dreams? Who granted you permission to swim through my waters? Who granted you permission, who gave you a reason to enter my circle and smear my colors? I have traveled for a thousand years… I have traveled through the pain of others, walked through it and returned to the beginning again…I bore the burden of shadows and the coldness of human eyes…
Welcome to sonorous loneliness the everlasting aggression of wet city streets....
I’m death and non-existing peson a long time ago for all uninvited and lost people. It’s finally came that moment and time when I’m starting to existing only for myself!
Time is passing by so rapidly. Cursoriness is whispering to us: it’s about time to start to feel, it’s about time to start to look,and it’s about time to start to listen...
By Nilaya
*I wonder...what reality is, and that reality itself isn't contributed by the invisible forces that circling around us, touching our bodies while we seeping, and piercieing our eyes while we're looking but whe don't know what... If the red is indeed something else and before time we were told that it is RED and we blindfolded belive in it, and see that is the color, and nobody can undecive us, who we are going to trust that this is reality...
By Nilaya
On the stage of life we forget our character, we don't remember the long studied text. On the field of death we forget the meaning of symbols, we don't remember the bad things which cut our faces with sharp moves. In hard times we stand in front of a riddle, we stump the solutions and barry the meaning.
Ny Nilaya
Still that many written words didn’t measure my sorrow,
nor shown happiness
nor spoke that what I wanted to hear...
You know who you are…I will not try to explain to you why I am here...
You are the one who knows…
I will not write words to you
those in which every letter stands for one morning and one new sorrow...
Time goes by…We are going to meet...
You know that our sights will meet, and that we will know from where we came…
Birth for the new morning...let’s pay for the birth and wait for the death
I sit on the turned over boat, staring at the sky full of stars...
Long time ago we spoke and then it became quite, too
in front of sorrow and my eyes...
And you are quite...
I don’t know this age, and these people who only know of blood,
fear and screaming…
I know other things, the softer ones
But still strong enough to hurt…hurt the most…
What I had, I no longer have…I killed, I admit…
And burn me all of you who think that - That should be...
I'm not going to complain…
I don’t have time for explanations…
Time is passing by…We will meet…
You know that…
you know that every time you think of the mornings
when you were getting the Sun out of your eyes
with tiresome movements…so used to darkness.
I know… We will meet… We will see each other
By Nilaya