ManicWorld Magazine

We never chased for earth,
though we sometimes felt to be under of it,
the soil, the grasses, the stones.
Every season makes and steals,
but we remain still as it has been our fate since last spring.

Up on the earth, our black stones shine, under rain and shedding tears,
but we never leaned to feel their songs as we were buried to breathe with no pains,
no smiles and no hopes.

We are ancient,
our names are being sculpted on our gravel stones,
so that our existence never fades whether the spring can,
and so we often think that the gravel stones are more soft hearted than flowers.