The Dedication is to the Graciousness of the Almighty Creator who blessed us with so many blesses like the Eternal Maternity and the Souls sharing and caring for the salvation of all the beings Ethica (a child family member of us) left us, on 30.06.2011, suffering with meningitis. Ma was injured on 19.03.2009 (12:30-1:30 pm), with something blunt, on her face (as the spots can be located in the photo, located at http://shuvogrontho.blog.com , even after 10 days of her miraculous recovery from that fatal injury) ‘through faltering while shopping’ at Kallyanpur Natun Bazar, Dhaka (she lived at house no. 74/1/B - second Floor, Block - D , Road -6, Kallyanpur notun Bazar, Dhaka) ; and consequentially, becoming weaker, left us on 11.07.2011
THIS BLOG IS POSTED TO COMMEMORATE THEM AND MANY OTHER INNOCENT SOULS LEAVING THIS EARTH IN AN UNNATURAL/UNEXPECTED/UNTIMELY MANNER.
Other parts, including the illustrative Mandala-art-works and literature for children, may be found at http://shuvogrontho.blog.com AND at http://shuvogronthona.blog.com
Prelude of the presenter and copyright owner
He came and gave some of the art-works for preserving and serving to the extent possible. He spoke, as simple like anyone, about some of the inclinations about those art-labours, and about the dedication line. Close to those inclinations the preparations were done to serve them in a frame before you. (He is S.A.K.M. Shamsul Hauque, the author of the following literary-art works). And the way all these grew, you knew too, as that’s nothing new to be known by few.
May this bilingual presentation bridge the positive souls and minds, of different landscapes of the very same earth, that find anywhere in the life-flow the promises and ties to grow and let others grow.
The Parabola and The Mundane Songs were inclined to be spread through the book like parts of the main canvas. and The Monadics, Uni-Meditation, to be in booklet form. He revived some of the Drvidian drawings of collective-meditation or Mandala-chitra (contained in Uni-Meditation) and requested all to search for the others, samples of that collection were also inclined to be presented in booklets. There are episodes or parts in Bangla (Bengali) which were kept as it were for the sake of serving and preserving the art-works in their original form. All the art works of this Art-collection have been served in the original communicative languages of their formation and none of them are translated or transformed from themselves or from any other art-works so far it is known to the original Art-labourer/writer and to the presenter of this collection. So, to taste all the art-works of this book, the readers have to possess adequate fluency in both Bangla (Bengali) and English or may require to take assistance of authentic literary-translators, until the writer himself has translated them. Concerning aesthetic value of these art-labours, we like to quote from one of the statements of the Art-labourer/writer of this book– “Art-works are but the spectrum of the reality of the distinguish time-space-force playing through the prism of the Art-labourer/writer. So Art-labourer/writer deserves very minimum of the appreciations or criticisms for the art-work, though the labour and/or care for the art-labour or creativity is not beyond appreciations or criticisms. In fact it’s merely a way of sharing, like that of a farmer sharing his/her labour of producing grains for others as well.” All the literary and other types of art-labours came from one person whose intended name-sign letters are printed as Shv. He thinks that names are but merely the way of indication of a being, so he preferred the art-labours to be known in that way. His fingerprints are printed in the book for the sake of preventing the art-labours from any type of illegal or misrepresented claim or use. Having a copy of this collection, you gain only the right to collect and taste the art-labours as they are. This gives you no right of reproduction of any kind other than for academic and humanitarian purposes. Persons interested for any other types of use or reproduction are requested to strictly comply with the Copyrights Laws and are advised to contact with the copyright-holder at the specified contact.
In relation to the lots of spelling and grammatical errors, more specifically in The Parabolas, we apologize and assure you that very soon there will be a comparatively error-free version for your collection. And here we like to recall the theorems “In this world full of errors nothing but the Creator alone is above the limitations of errors” and that, “NIHIL SIMUL INVENTUM EST ET PERFECTUM”.
Anyway, this collection is presented for the consideration, of the minds who remind and keep in mind, that the alternative to reading and writing is to read and write. O yes, one more personal message for all concerned – probably one international law requiring any film or document or drawing, concerning the persons or beliefs of reverence to any community, to be approved by the proper authority of that community, would suffice to close the door of hell that is causing many losses through conflicts arising out of religious or other types of beliefs.
The contents of this blog were printed in February, 2008 and has been placed online since then. Those earlier versions can be found at http://shuvogrontho.informe.com
As to any sort of interest including those of re-publication or for the purpose of collecting the Bangla (Bengali) parts or for collecting the drawings on joint-meditation, you are cordially requested to please contact at -
E-contacts- firstname.lastname@example.org email@example.com
THE BOOK STARTS WITH
THIS VERSE FROM THE HOLY Al-Qur’an
“Say: Allah is the One and Only everywhere; Allah, the Eternal, the Absolute; ………” Al-Qur’an, 112.001-2 [Al-Ikhlas (Sincerity)]
Parabola- 1. The sun sets to set away – it’s the way days give way to the nights, it’s the way always all through the ways that the darks mingle up with the lights. The lonely kite on its end-day flight is searching for – a search for something to grip either-or. See the trees, see the clouds, sees the sky and sees the boy without toy and whose eyes rise like ever high. Sees the boy, and he sees the trees and the clouds, the flights of the kites and the sky that takes so high to wash off the pains of gains of a lonely sigh of the fatherless child growing up with his mother’s care, though he himself is not much shared by others, but by his mother, he learns to share. Running here and there the child went not wild though he went to wilds that harness the harshness of life into a light so soft and mild. From the wild, the tiny child learns too how to wash off the mundane pains and the lonely sighs. The tiny child’s mind and eyes browse through the colours of life and through the skies, the trees and clouds and the colours of the sun do the things that otherwise would have been never done. The trees and clouds, sun-rays and the skies tell him an endless tale of life free from the undue mundane lies. The green leaves, hasty clouds and the playing sunrays all over the sky, binds up the tiny mind and mother-earth with the unseen forever-tie. The tiny mind gets the best ways to find the life as life in a time and space that seems to him not so kind. The sun sets away far a way to bear in mind – the tiny boy and the praising calmness of his sight that the sun leaves behind. The mundane charm of the warmth of a calm working Mom at the end of the day when the sunrays begin to blur, comes to her the time to pray for some from an endless sum of the eternal some. Mom, O! Mom, tired of works, but ever so calm, Mom, O! Mom, singing to her kids the holy verses and some of the psalms. Mom! a Mom, likened by the kids like the moonlit nights and the stars that blur off with the firsts of daylights. Mom, the Mom, the heavenly grace that the kids brought with them from the heaven, the grace without which the life could not be thought. Mom, a Mom, who sums up some and many of the some of life-sums. Mom, the Mom, tired of works but even then too calm. Mom, the Mom, who breeds the creed, feeds and leads them to the holy some. Mom, the Mom, breeds the kids – so need to feed them up – so works so long. Mom, the Mom, lead the creeds, seed them up, to sing the life’s lovely song. Mom, the Mom, the working Mom, the warmth of love and the kids’ innocence-charms at the end of the day give her the power to forgive and to give the best mundane things to pray to have in the life all the ways. Mom, the Mom, the working Mom, tired but calm at the end of a workful day, does not sway anyway to lead her kids in the moves through the life’s days of the busy ways.
Mom, the Mom, now old and aged and caged in two tiny rooms, waits for the breeze to bridge the memories’ chime that faded with time. Faded ? Or graded with the waves that pave the phases of faces in mundane graces ? The Mom’s stone-faced face graces the traces of mundane graces. “Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The eternal face, Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The Creator’s best mundane grace. Mom, O! Mom, O! the Mom! Closing the eyes, the face I can see. Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! Creator’s best gift only for me.” The children-rhyme with the best chime of time that belongs to none but all who can feel and still can hear the childhood call. The children’s rhymes with sublime-chimes’ wave through times -“Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The eternal face, Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The Creator’s best mundane grace. Mom, O! Mom, O! the Mom! Closing the eyes, the face can see all. Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! Creator’s best gift for us all.”
The sun sets to set away – it’s the way days give way to the nights, it’s the way always all through the ways that the darks mingle up with the lights. The lonely kite on its end-day flight is searching for – a search for something to grip either-or. See the trees, see the clouds, sees the sky and sees the boy whose eyes rise and live ever high. Rise the eyes through the skies to see beyond and within – the shall, will, are, is, am and been.
“……..Fear Allah, and hearken not to the unbelievers and the hypocrites; verily Allah is full of knowledge and wisdom. But follow that which comes to you by inspiration from your Creator: because Allah is well-acquainted with all that you do…..” Sura Al Ahzab or The Confedarates , The Holy Al-Qur’an
Sky, O Sky , O holy Sky , tell to all the root-cause of all the pains and sighs that comes but was not seen by the eyes of the child who was mild with the love of the mother-soul of the eternal goal to breed the seed of the creed to a holy goal of sharing and caring for all as a whole, in spite of the brutal facts and acts she had to face through out the life and the toll she had to pay in many ways of the nights and days of the darks that spark to jerk and shake not to remake but to break the real-form and to deform the real values and norms of the creed to proceed to the positive goal which confirms that the creed as a whole is but one to breed the seeds bound by the needs crust that must be broken for the seed to be free and to become the tree of blooming-spree to grow and flow the flowers of growers who are the pure souls of the best of the mundane-goals that don’t want to fight but work for light of the souls to work through the creative goals and to partake in the life that the Holy Soul wanted to make where nobody take more than that they may make out of work which don’t spark or jerk the pure souls neither shake to deform the pure souls’ real form to turn into an evil or a sear soul deviated from the goal that was implanted by the Holy Soul within the pure souls to reach the goals of the fusion of the creation that never ends but may bend to mend the wounds of the rounds of bounds of the negative force that try to endorse the evil trends by the bends of the sparks and jerks to shake not to remake but to break the real-form and to deform the real values and norms of the creed to proceed to the positive goal that was implanted within the pure souls.
Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell to all the root-cause of all the pains and sighs that comes out of the causes that see not the eyes of the child who was mild with the love of the mother-soul of the eternal goal to breed the seed of the creed to a holy goal of sharing and caring for all as a whole. Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell the pure souls of goals not to sigh or cry but to unite through out the sites of seen and unseen lights and to try to locate and placate the broken souls to not allow any more sear-souls to derail from the real humane-mundane-goals. Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell the pure souls of goals not to sigh or cry but to unite through out the sights and sites and to try to ignite the holy lights of the holy days and nights within the evil souls derailed from the real mundane- humane-goals.
Parabola- 1b. The calmness of the palms of the Mother who sought them into being and brought them up in the rings of things and beings to grow and let others grow as human beings working to trace the grace for the race of the races and thereby to place the lights of the sights that were endowed by the One who has ordained to bow before none but only before that One who has created and seated the things into being and had formed the rings of the things and beings that together forms the universe being and becoming through and by the things and beings waiting for the finest of the parabola rings that might free the things and beings from the pains of the chains that give not the gains to the forms nor develop the norms of the forms to a higher phase of the cosmic nights and days mingled with the rays of the darks and lights that may or may not be seen by all the sights of the lights and darks to receive and perceive the lights and darks that spark through and to the darkest sparks of the darks when they can not be regained to do the due that they were ordained to be done by the holiest One who is the none someone and the One who is many in One who created everyone and every one of the things forming the rings of the things and beings being and becoming now and then every when since the eve of the time when was formed the first of the chimes of the sublimes of the existence and non-existence that were destined for the earliest forms of the norms that could make the storms of the things and beings form the non-being to the rings of the things and beings and then may turn again to the chain of norms that deform the forms to reform or not to form in those forms following the same norms that were formed within the earliest norm of the forms to reform or to deform those unable to reform them out of the darkest sparks they are carrying in and thereby carrying in the sparks into the rings of the beings and things.
Mother who shared and taught to share with all of the races of the holy creeds of the holy seed every bit of the graces for the races to preserve the seeds of the creeds passing through the chains of the needs that are but part of the norms of the forms being and becoming to and from the forms and norms that they are made of or for the norms and forms of the storms of the cosmic flow that grows and flows through and to the high and lows of the sky where nothing is high or low and neither slow but to shape their being into becoming to bring in the ever most perfect ring of the timely chime of sublime that they use to sing since the eve of the time they were into the world of the things and beings and which were ordained and were coded for the doors of the source-codes of the holiest codes to form the best of the norms to form and to reform the forms and norms whenever they may have been deformed by the darkests of the sparks that bites and hurts the other forms or norms due to their inborn defect of the norms to form themselves for reaching the goals by playing the roles that they were ordained to play since the first ray before the rounds of sounds could be found in the womb of time that made the first of its chimes to load the source-codes that are ordained by the One who is for all again for none who deforms the norms of the forms or norms that were formed and were set as the source-code of the core of mores and force before the first storm of the beings to form the rings of things and beings to bring in the seeds to breed the creed of the being with the most proper pace to grow and let others grow and flow through the stream of the things and beings that are becoming for the coming times to pass through and to reach up to the goals they are destined as forms or to be deformed by the forces of the deformed norms who force other to be deformed and to spark out their inborne forces through the courses of mal-forces that were not designed in the discourses of the source-codes of the norms to form and to reform the things and beings to develop themselves and all to a newer phase to face the newer plane of becoming to be a part of the coming time to remain together even in that plane and to proceed more to a newer time and to ensure the eternal knot of the dots and thoughts and spots of time that to be passed by them and to reach the newer plane of the sublime passing through the blooming time that is also being and becoming now and then to and from many when of the time raining the gains to get rid of the undue chains and pains that deforms the norms and forms of all the forms or norms existing in the world of the beings or non-beings that are also part of the rings of things and beings that came into being since the eve of the time and are developing to and from the newer phases of the pace of the race of the creeds to preserve to grow and flow the seeds and to breed the seeds of creeds to trace and face the needs to grow and flow through the courses of the time and to carry the source-codes’ chimes to the newer phase of sublime and forms that bring out and preserve the forms and norms to grow and flow and to follow the destined chain of the source-codes to bring in the best of the things and beings out of their forms and to preserve and bear in the norms that were ordained for their creed to breed and seed the creed and, to the newer phase, to sow and grow and flow and to contain the seeds to a newer plane of sublime and thereby to maintain the chain of being and becoming of the things to ensure that the best of the things are preserved and grown up to the next cosmic-plane to ensure the creative chain of the things of being and becoming as per the earliest of the ordained source-codes and to maintain pace as per the newer cosmic-planes to sustain and contain the gains through the pains and chains as may be found in the nature of the Mother mundane.
“Infirmum Dei fortius est hominibus: et stultum Dei sapientius est hominibus.” I. Corinthians, i., 25
[For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weaknesses of God are stronger than men.]
Knot the not-s of the spots where lots don’t go, plot the slots of the blots that Helots don’t sow. Sow the rows and know the toes that foes don’t do, row the lows of the flows and grow the “know”-s that should you. Grains of rains will wash the pains of the body and the mind. Chain or gain every now and then should not be able to make you blind. Mind the kinds of the minds behind and sow the rows of bodies, soul and minds. Rains of grains will free the brains and will bring the gains yet to find. Rains of gains will break the chains that have blinded so many minds. Mind not ever to mind the kinds that cause for minds with sores of hurts. Bet to wait on your fate at any rate to open the gate for the heartfelt heart of the hearts.
Knot the lots of the spots that never blot with mundane change. Range away the range of avenge that shadows like the stone-henge. Net the late-s of alike fate to get through the simile-gates. Don’t let the gates to do the fates and slate the plates of newer dates. “Dates get the gates albeit to bet the fates on the due most day. ” they may say, but never sway anyway on the way to reach the gates of the shrines of Tibet. Reach it in your way.
Not the lots, but the thoughts of Helots and sages, drew the cue of the foremost few in all ages. Fast or slow, the time may flow, through the waves of the times. Thrust to burst the glow of the chimes of times’ flow, grow deep and slow in the soundless rhymes. Chime the time, in sublime of the lots. Spot the dots of blots of the knots of saintly thoughts. Slot the plots of the lots where the Helots cannot go to blow the dots of the not-s with the lots of knots that forever grow.
“But could youth lost, and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move,
To live with thee and be thy love.”
- Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd, Sir Walter Ralegh.
The water sings, the water sings to the sky. The tiny creek sings a loveful song all way long – a loveful song. The song contains the chimes of pains and of gains. Pains of bound in a crackling sound waves for long all way long – lonely creek’s streamy song – the song of pains, the song of gains. Gains that regained again and again by the singing monsoon-rains. Rains that come in the days, rains that come in the nights. Rains that bring the darkest sparks of the brightest lights. The creek spares a little of its chimes for rights or wrongs. And all through the lifetime sings its sweetest mundane songs.
The darkest hue of the finest blue of the sky pays its due to the loveful song that he for long knew to be amongst the finest few. The greenest green of the forest’s breast whispers in joy the farthest time. The time that contains in the pains, gains, and the oldest chimes.
The joyful whistles of the muses of the birds are too with the song acting like rhythmic guards. The finest hue of the furthest blue drinks in the sunrays and takes birth anew – knew not they, as they drink the sunrays in, they will become emerald green. Green that no man made or makes but is made by the suns and the lakes. Life around and life abound, lives around like the creek’s lively sound. Lively sound ! or the lovely song ! which of the terms goes right and which goes wrong ? A song that makes the life full of sounds and brings down heavenly chimes on the mundane grounds.
He went through the village skirt and up the stream, and reached the land of joyous dreams. The deepest of the inmost themes sparks in him like the morning sun beams. Beams that wave up in the sublime sky where unite the life’s they, s/he, you and I. Far more high in that sublime sky, flies his mind, mind flies and flies. High and high in the bluest sky he rises to where the shy clods fly. Clouds of songs and clouds of mundane pains, clouds of rains full of gains. They say to him about the greenest lake, where once in a galaxy-year, a man partake to bath with the finest of the bests of the muse. Nothing new with the things he knew other than this one of the cloud-world’s news. One in a year can partake in the bath of the greenest lake with the best of the loveliest muses, and will live there so long the autumn dawn will pay its dues to the stream-side morning dews. And, if the muse is pleased to sing the rain-song in a way that does not go too far wrong, the man will gain the muse again and then up to the last days of the spring-rain.
The eldest of the clouds speak to him clear and loud – “You may be proud to win the entrance here, where lively lives share and care. But free man ! what to fear ? I am sure that you are the man of the year. The trees voted for you, and the joyful birds did too. The streams and we, the clouds all have made the choice – and the one is you. May be you knew not, or may be you knew, that, you were supported also by the rain-songs and their color-bow too. You’ve been spoken to by the butterflies, beetles and ants, and have gained the votes of the softest plants. The shiny green tiny herbs and the sunrays with their waves and curves – all voted for you, and the secret news is that you are chosen by the best and the loveliest muse. And not to say, but say must I, that the muse has given a choice of preference for you without shy. Surely you are the man who deserves all these gains. And, without pains I guess that you will be there up to the next monsoon rains. Then why do fear ! O! the best of thinking men ! Cheers for the gains ! Let us cheer !”
“Mentem sanari, corpus ut aegrum,
Cernimus, et flecti medicina posse videmus:” -Lucretius, iii, 509
[We see sick minds cured as well as sick bodies by the help of medicines.]
The man – humble, laborious, honest and meek, passed through the dreamy stream and the tiny shiny creek. Passing through the emerald greens of the mountain forest, he sat by the shiny creek to take a rest. Most laborious and honest of the time is the man with the broadest chest. And it was the dusk and the evening stars’ sparkling light in the beginning of the mundane lively night. It was the tranquil darks of far and nears – the dark that in itself fades and blurs. It was the shades of the Starry Night that caused in him a dreamy flight that creeps down to him in the sleep and takes him to the dream-house’s inside and deep. The farthest sky sang to him the oldest of the songs, the pulsars pulsed to him about the rights and wrongs. The southern breeze pulsated on his eyelids to deepen the dream – the dream that is dreamt only by the side of a mundane stream.
The blooming clouds swam past him and the night, and the moon tried to bright up the light of the mundane sight. The mundane tales, that no one tells, of the nights that shine the dream of a humble man sleeping by the side of a mundane stream.
Near and far, are the lights of the silver moonlit nights. And the moon, imbued in the clouds shown up for ever bright the lights. Never the children of the earth did fear to bath into the moonlight of this part of the year. Since the time they lived sublime waves of the caves, to drink up the melted moonlight, they were the braves. They were the braves to come out and let them flow into the silver-moon’s cloud imbued glow. Glow that flow like the cascade bright like the milk, smooth and wavy like the finest of the muslin silk. Since the men live in the farthest nights they bathed in such silver moon’s silky lights. Lights not bright but the smoothest of the light that may shine up on earth, the mundane lives’ mundane nights. Nights that fight all the chains and mundane pains. Nights that write the rightmost thoughts in the brains. Nights that fight right and bright the unjust plights. Nights that bright up the lights to pave the way to the rightmost mights of the sights. Sights that see in the darks all the way through the rays of the finest days that never sway. Nights that bright up the rightmost ways of rains of gains. Up and below, shines up the silky lights of the silver moonlit night.
Shines up bright the softest moon now far and near. All the brave came out of the cave, but with a few of them came the fights to fear. Nights of sights of light so bright with silent gains. Lights of nights with a sight so bright whispers to wash off all the mundane pains.
Sleeps not he, sleeps not he, but he too dreams – the waves of dreams flows through him like the mountain streams.
“I cannot see the sea my love, you know, but I can feel. I can feel the gentle wind that grinds the waves and paves the way for the newer waves yet to bring them in and to sing the mundane songs yet to bring. I cannot see the sea my love !” said he , “but I can feel the sea as you see. I can feel , my love! It’s full of warmth and waves and it paves the streams of dreams.” He hold her palms and whispers a part of King Solomon’s psalms –
“ For lo the winter is past
The rain is over and gone,
The flowers appear on the earth,
The time of the singing birds has come,
Arise, oh my favourite, my dove,
The breeze and wave-chime concords his whispers and carry them far. The clouds are full of gains of rains born out of pains of the sea. The sea may or may not see the rain to contain the seeds of gains for grains. The shiny sky washed off the last bits of the color shades that it had shed through the would be shiny day yet to come again and to fade on the azurite bed of sea – a sea to talk for, a sea to see.
The strengths and lengths of sea on the eyes that couldn’t see the sea. The shines of the glaze that rise in the hottest sea-noon, the shines of the bless that praise for life when it’s a full-moon, the glows of the colour flows of after-rain bows that goes away soon, and the norms of the crudest storms that forms in the South-sea and reforms the life-forms of far away lagoons, and the smells of thousands flowers that blush and bloom everyday. The curls of pearls that colour the girls and bring the way out of a time-waved taboo about the girls who too are like the pearls as the smile they smile are born out of pain and bound by chains of the taboo. And the sea-rivers that sing their sweetest songs all the way, and the flower-seeds that breed the creeds of the timely rhyme that blooms out of a mundane sublime chime.
Should he leave the leaves to live and make believe and relieve the souls to relive the goal for the whole to become one seen by none as a one in the round that’s to be found not around but within in the dense tense and sense that rains the leaves of believes in the shiny green that relieves the doors of force more and more of mores that spring out and moves about the sense of tense to get the fate and bait the same in the game of the doors to pass by the mass that never see the sea that leaves believes to relieve the leaves that never fall but in all sow and grow in oceans of motions that blow the flow of time in sublime of the days that show the ways to full-moon night and bring in light that never fades in shades but breed the seed of the creed that may read itself and the time and in sublime build the guild and the vaults that never halt to grow the salt out of sublime sea that is not to see but to have the taste of the best things to do the due out of the dues that come as the news out of time !
“Et nihil hoc ad nos, qui coitu conjugioque
Corporis atque animae consistimus uniter apti.” Lucretius, iii., 857
[That is nothing to us whose being solely consists in the strict union of body and soul.]
There been the emerald green city – Koh, that very few know so to grow the roads named thoughts of Eternal Knots that bind the roads but loads them none like the rays of the sun mingles in zingles of colours’ home to roam around all abound everywhere near and far all way long all along millions more of crore of crores but all in a row, there is the emerald green city – Koh, that is known by a few of old and new whoever may grew to see the flow of selves and rivers in reverse of the sky flying high springs of colour-rings in the tricks of creeks around the azurite sea that the luckiest see above the emerald ground where the sweetest chimes and sounds of times round around the shiny streams that are seldom found in dreams of the thoughtful purest minds in a pace to face itself in the self of the same but of other kind when far behind calls away the way of the mundane life like a lone-island in the waves and colours of pace dancing face to face everywhere near and far all way long all along millions more of the cores of core, but all to grow and flow to go to the city –Koh, that very few know so to grow the roads named thoughts of Eternal Knots that bind the roads and then spread all of them like a thread of the finest taste of Muslin to bring in the singing scents of talents of the rarest of the full-moon nights that flights through the sight of sites to bring the most bright of the tranquil rays of the cosmic days without sun to round the run of run for paces of orbit-races that albeit trace the phase of none to leave behind anything the eyes may find to keep in mind to name mind-roads without loads that flows in and out all about to grow out and in the city – Koh, where they’ve been for so long all along their life-tour’s way as they may grow and flow like the chime of time on a tiny shiny wheel that by the skillful reel feel itself to fill the self by taking in the lights around that it found to round the sights that see the sea of hues of the dues of the dews drowned in azurite blues and the bluest hues of the sky that belong all along so near but far near and far all way long to its self that it may feel and so reel in and out all about to refill the flows of glows in and out all about the emerald green city – Koh, that is even known to a few of old and new whoever there may grow to see the flow of selves and rivers in reverse of the sky where fly so high the springs of the colour rings of springs in the tricks of creeks around the azurite sea that the luckiest see above the emerald ground where the sweetest grounds of sounds of timely chimes round around the rounds of shiny streams that are seldom found in dreams of the thoughtful purest minds of some of the kinds in a pace that face itself in the other-self of the others of same kind when far behind far a way falls away the mundane life like a lone-island in the waves that pave the sea-doors of either-or-s of neither-nor-s’ traces of graces of pace of race dancing phase by phase to face the phase near and far everywhere.
Far and near – everywhere – near and far.
“Quod …. Mutatur …….. dissolvitur; interit ergo;
Trajicuntur enim partes atque ordine migrant.” Lucretius, iii., 756
[What is changed is dissolved, and therefore perishes; the parts are separated, and depart from their order.]
Neither nor-s for the Or-s of either-or of the nor-s forge the force of the force of the doors that lock the force of the mores of force that blocks the doors that locks the force of the mores of the Four to open more of the doors of force of mores found to be bound by shores offshore. Roars the time and its doors to the cores of mores to force the doors to change the mores of force and doors to unlock the force of mores – mores of force that block the doors to force the talk to lock the talks to chalk the rocks of blocks to rock the chalks of talks to rock the blocks that grows in ranks and rows in the highs and lows that flow in and out round around without bound.
Bounds that rounds around the grounds’ sounds to be found in notions of motions of nations in the fashions of notions of the time to get the chime of the rhyme of motions – rounds that bound the grounds of motions of notions that goes far a way far away for a way to the cosmic ray that may play in the poles of souls the motion that grows and rolls so high in the sky where fly the minds of the kinds that gives the way of the ray that may stay in the way but never sway to go a way that brings the days out of dark to spark the thought of knot to bind the lot of the lots of million spots to grow in and out and round about in the time of the timely chime that binds the minds and finds the way to sow and grow in the flow of the doors of the mores to bring in mores of force of the Four of the core to hail the trail that never fail to reach the lights who write the rights over the mights to gain the rightmost might to fight the fights of the nights that grows in pains and chains of the minds and blind the sights of the wrongs and rights that’s proven for a long along the long way of time to reach the perfect rhyme of sublime and to put it with the rightmost chime along the long long-songs of rights and wrongs to find the lights that fight the mights that blind the minds about the wrongs and rights to have the sights that bright the lights to light up wronged sights of the darkest lights that sparks out of pain again and again throughout the time to regain the chime and rhyme of the flowing time that’s growing on through the paces of forces in spaces that leave traces of motions that grow abound and not to be found in a time far away though it may pay the pace of space the ground of force of the forms of norms that get its forms and reforms all the way to reach the lights that enrich sights of wrongs and rights that fight the night of the nights. “Nights” is but to say anyway in the way that to many minds may symbolize the forms of decay of the forms of the norms that forms and reforms the forms of the kinds of the pace and force that gains the doors to gain more and more mores of cores and courses of forces of the sights that bright the lights to light up the nights all along a long long-space and time to carry on the rhymes and chimes of the songs that come along a long long-way to get the rightmost ray that may sing the mundane song yet to sing –
“While passing through the ancient City Of Mind,
Try to find, and when you find any other of your same kind,
With them and you, be kind and try to find further ways to bind.”
“Numquam adeo foedis adeoque pudendis
Utimur exemplis, ut non pejora supers int.” - Juvenal, viii. 183
[The example we produce, are not so shameful and foul but that far worse remain behind.]
And they came to game by the fames of the names they blame and to try to tame by shame of lame blames that too came with them to frame the blames to tame in the name of the past names that never tamed or framed anything but their lust and did cast the fast thrust to free the souls and goals that roll and roll forever here and there and everywhere to and fro as they grow in all the kinds of minds high and low to and fro in and out all about the goals and souls that roll and roll through the roles and goals that role and toll on names of fames found to be bound in the frames of the blame-games that came with them, then they came to game by the names of the fames that tried to flame by shame of lame blames that too came with them to flame the blames to blame and tame in the name of the past names that never tamed or framed anything but their lusts and did cast the fastest thrusts to free the souls and goals that roll and roll forever here and there and everywhere.
Shall they feel the way they deal with others who never curse in the name they try to put the frame to tame the minds of humankind not to find but to feel in the zeal and
“Segrati celant calles, et myrtea circum
Sylva legit; curae non ipsa in morte relinquunt;” Ænid, vi., 443
[Secret paths hide them, and myrtle groves environ them; their care do not leave them even when they die.]
Lake that shakes and makes its way on the way not to Rome, but roams in houses that could not leap and remain dipped deep in shades of the hungry blades of hunger-storms that break the forms-norms and shapes of body and mind and leave behind the ‘grapes of wraths’ in the name of paths that have no rays of days nor any star-light. Wraths’ grapes shape delight, but in pains, and enchain the grains and gains with the chains of the sightless mights’ rites of feasts of the fists, not the least in the east in the north river-mouths and so forth in the south in the forest of west and the hills nor appeals could stop them or shame to run with the blame-games of unseen names, the more they claim the more the flame of the fiery bird that is well heard in south-north and so forth in the east and west the bird that guards the herd of humankind totem in the same name and bears the light to light up the dark sights of the dark-sides of the darkest nights and writes the rights of rites and of the rites of rights that glow up in the deeps and dips into the deep sublime-seas with thematic ships and schematic skills and till tills that what is grown in mind-fields and sown in the mine-fields, and builds the guilds to undo war near and far, in the mind-mine-fields.
Mind, O! mine, the game of Nine that line up the fine of the finest chimes that’s found to be bound by the frame of rules of game that may shake but could not tame down nor could drown in the lake that shakes and takes its way through the monads of bonds to bind the minds of humane kinds and paves the way for braves not to sway between the zingles of right-less rights, nor delights to see the sightless lights of darkest nights, but lights the rights and mights of rights of the brightest sights to write up the fights of lights with nights through the dark-sights of the dark-sides of the darkest nights and bright up the sight to see the way that never sway to chose the rightmost of the wrongs and rights.
Lake that makes and takes its way through the lakes that shake but never break nor sway the lake that’s wavy but never bends the sakes and makes its trends of a lake that lends the ends of life for millions friends of the sublime chimes – lake that makes the shakes to open up the doors of time with timely waves that cave the braves of time through the doors of mores of force and force of mores of sights and lights of sublime of the lake that forms the norms and reforms the forms and norms with the timely chime of a time of chime of the lake that shakes all the forms and makes its norms of forms-reforms and norms with the rhyme for timely times and rhymes and chimes that is grown by its own source-resource of re-sourcing source that cores the mores and doors of the Four of force through the way that may long along all along the way so long bring the song that all may sing or all do sing or all do sing in their own-grown way as they may, like the shiny ray of the tiny wheel that feels and fills its shiny reels to deal with the drills of thrills and to deal the heals as it may on its way all along the way its ray may bring and sing through the time in sublime one of the chimes of life’s mundane-song that is not yet sung by anyone –
“Souls are but one
Though the minds may be any,
And bodies are millions more and many.”
bwÌ ivMm‡gv Aw¹ bwÌ †vmm‡gv M‡nv, bwÌ †gvnmgs Rvjs bwÌ ZY&nvmgv bx||
‡mv K‡ivwn xcgË‡bv wLàs evqg cwÛ‡Zv fe& ,
Abyc~‡eŸb †gavex ‡vK‡vKs L‡Y L‡Y, K¤§v‡iv iRZm&‡me wb×‡g gjgË‡Yv||
‡mv K‡ivwn xcgË‡bv wLàs evqg cwÛ‡Zv fe& ||
a¤§c-251, 236, 239, 238
[Avmw³i gZ Av¸b †bB, †Ø‡li gZ MÖn (MÖvmKvix) †bB, †gv‡ni gZ Rvj †bB, Ges Z…òvi mgvb bx †bB|
myZivs wb‡Ri wbivc wbevm ˆZix K‡iv, w¶cÖZi D¨gx n‡q cvwÛZ¨ AR©b K‡iv|
Kg©Kvi †hgb iR‡Zi gj ~i K‡i, †miƒc cÖvÁ e¨w³MY GK GK K‡i ax‡i ax‡i wb‡Ri Kj~l ~i K‡ib|
myZivs wb‡Ri wbivc wbevm ˆZix K‡iv, w¶cÖZi D¨gx n‡q cvwÛZ¨ AR©b K‡iv|]
Then the songs came like a blameless flame never to shame or flame –the songs came – in the shiny frame of the greens, in the rays, in the azurite sky through sublime ways all along the senses of life came the songs that don’t make the wrongs and never crimes – in the rightmost time came the crimeless chime and timeless rhyme of colourless time bathed deep into the colours of chime came the songs of rays in the ways that the ways do come to the fewer of the fewest some – some of the sums summing up the sums and sums of the some to sum up the some – sums of times and some of chimes summed up to the times with the sweetest chimes – times of chimes and rhymes of the time brought some of the new chime-paradigm taking the chimes for making a time that hymns with the purest of sublime, hymns go long along the rhymes and the chimes that belong for the mundane song of the songs of greens and songs of rays – songs that always find their ways or they pave in sublime caves the timeless ways of the chimeful waves of darks and ways of lights, ways of the sights of lights through the darkest nights – nights of rights and nights of wrongs.
Lights of bright darks spark the song of the songs of sights and songs of lights of rights that have the might to breakthrough the mundane nights – of fights of darks and the knights of lights who by the lights bright up the darkened sights – the nights of the caves that paved the lights of the rights of the rights-mights and rites and still bright up to light the darker mundane nights – nights of lights of the rightmost sights lighting up the way that never sway to pave the ways of rays from cave to cave.
Brave-most lights never fights with the nights or for their rights, but keep up the rights of lights of sights that bright up in every single mundane nights to the rightmost ways to do the rights of sights of bright lights of rights to pave the waves of brightest sights of rites of rights waving through the mundane nights of waves and lights of dots to spot a lot of eternal knot – not the lots of thoughts of lots of spots and knots to bring for lots the timeless thoughts of the sights of rights and the rights of the knots of oughts to spot the lot of thoughts amongst the millions ‘do’-s and ‘not’-s by the dots of oughts. Oughts and ‘not’-s spot the knots of things’ being and becoming – long along the long long-way did and shall they ray the way as they may or may not bring the being of the rings and ring of things and becoming of the times and chimes bringing the things in being to sing the songs that all or none bring to sing the ring of beings of things to be in the chime of time through the times and beings of rings to bring all into being and to sing one of the timeless timely mundane songs –
“Where came from ?
Where to go ?
Where to end do we grow ?”
“And I shall again be on earth when there has been draught, and scarcity of water for a hundred years, born not out of mother’s womb when my praise will be recited by the saints. Then I shall cast a look on mankind with hundred eyes, and they shall call me the hundred-eyed from that time. Then, ye gods, I shall support the entire universe until there is rain with life-sustaining herb created out of my own body. ……….. ” – Markandeya Chandi, Chapter, XI, 46-49
The doors of the Four of force of mores opened the doors and now the mundane time decides to bend to lend its hand to end the trends that send all to far too far from the end of Humankind and now the rounds found that its too bound by the bounds of bounds that bind the Humankind to find its way as it may vary to be agreed from time to time, and the grounds round the bounds that they found to hound the pace of progress through the doors of mores that opened to be with the time deciding to mend the space to face the pace, and the pace faces the phases of the race – the race faces the Phases of the space and pace. The sounds found that they are bound with the bounds of the grounds, so do the rays all the ways slide and glide – they hide and hide in the ways but never sway – the pace now race face to face to face the pace that bring the rays on the ways – the minds are blind though they find and bind the minds of million kinds, and may be more and more as the mores of the Four of doors. The force of Four and the Four of force and mores are of course the doors to course the course of course.
The doors of the force opened and the west now rest after the feast they’ve made with the east, south opened the mouth and the north came forth. The Four of mores opened the doors of talks that chalks the blocks, and now the mundane time bends to meet the ends. The west , giving its best, now rest and watch the watch, and share the priests of the east to make a proper list of the least-s. South opened the mouth and the north came forth.
The grounds are found in the rounds and the doors of doors are the force of the Four of the force to open the doors of them-us-their and yours through the course of mores of doors to recourse the mores of force, and of course, the mores of the Four are the doors of force to recourse the course of course.
The mind to find to find and bind the grounds and the rounds with the bounds of grounds and rounds that bind the Humankind to mind its way as it may vary to be agreed from time to time, and the grounds’ round that bounds what they found to hound the pace of progress that opened through the doors of mores to be with the time deciding to mend the phase to pace the race, and the space races through the race of the phases – the space faces the Phases of the pace of the race for the grace.
“Caetera pars animae, per totum dissita corpus,
Paret, et ad numen mentis nomenque movetur,” – Lucretius, iii,. 144
[The other part of the soul, diffused all over the body, obeys the divinity and great name of mind.]
The rays plays ways and the ways lays rays – the base rays ways and the ways raise rays, the rays race in pace without trace, the race of pace and the pace of race find their ways in time-space wherein in the thin the pace of rays and the race of pace traced the race’s phase to face and then found the rounds of grounds that were bound to be bound by the bounds. The grounds now found the sounds in the rounds and the doors to doors are the force of the Four of the course of mores to open the doors of them-us-their and yours through the mores of course of doors to recourse the mores of force, and of course, the mores of the Four are the doors of force to recourse the course of course.
The grounds they found and bound by the bounds of rounds of endless grounds that bounds the rounds of rounds and pace the race that rays the ways of the sage and trace the pace of the grace that s/he says of the days and of the nights where the dark sky too bright with the flights of endless cosmic lights. Through the ways, rays, days and nights of lights says the sage to raise the ways and the rays – “Race the pace to grace the race and ways as the ways play the rays that lay the ways, the ways race in paces without traces, the ways of pace of the rays and races trace the phases to face the race, and the race rays the ways and pace the phase always face to face all the ways; the ways too race phase to phase and face to face as the phases phase the ways face to face, the phase of ways and the ways of rays raced to raise and then found the grounds to be bound in the rounds and by sounds. Of course the doors of the course of the Four of cores of course, doors, mores and force course the discourse to recourse the mores of course, doors, mores and force; the force of the Four and the force of doors, the mores of mores of the cores and the doors of mores are the doors to recourse the course of course; and of course the doors of doors are the force of the Four of the force to open the doors of them-us-their and yours through the course of mores of doors to the doors recourse the mores of force, and of course, the mores of the Four are the doors of doors to endorse the cores of the course to recourse the course of course.”
“Modus quo corporitus adhaerent spiritus …. Omnio mirus est, nec comprehendi ab homine potest; et hoc ipse homo est; ”
- St. Augustine, City of God. xxi, 10
[The manner whereby souls adhere to bodies is altogether marvelous, and cannot be conceived by man, and yet this union is man.]
The runner rushes fast. He must reach the freedom that may for ever last. The runner runs through the stone hills. The runner leaves behind a war that kills, now and then every when, the children, women and the men warring with/on/at or even Horse-de-combat or even the lotus of foetus. The runner runs like the timeless shiny arrow, the runner runs like the time-sparrow. The runner runs and runs but never tends to bend to reach the victors’ glory and joy that seldom end. The paths are full of wraths and of pains. The path that the runner runs through is yet to be followed by the victory’s gains. Reigns of pains chain the gains and mains. The ruins of reigns of reins are sometimes reigned over by the mundane monsoon rains that flow out of the gains of the preceded or breaded clouds. The rains not enchained with the pains to be none or someone one of the proud crowds that are proud for not knowing what to do, crowds that crowd along but know not when/where to shroud or to be proud to be the crowd that lend and vend but do not tend to be free of baseless prides that tried but never could enchain the mundane-rains by pains or chains or any of the ‘gains’ that are ever found. Crowds that are heard hard on grounds with allowed aloud sounds but missing the very grounds and/or rounds that they tend to bend for to lend or amend. Crowds that tend to vend or lend to send the mends of bends. Free enough not to be proud of such crowds, the runner runs through the time-space paradigm to reach in time the victory’s chime that never end to fly high the glory’s flag ever to bend. Runners run like the rushing boy, or to say, fly anyway like the butterflies. The runner runs ahead of awards of gains and pains of sighs. The runner passes through the tears of the nears and dears that through the times of mundane nights and days try to find the reality-chimes of one of the most wanted rhymes – “Cheers ! dears, no more fears or tears, as like always, even in these days we have the ways of the best shining rays.”
Runners running without ramming through the swaying ways and always pray as they may, the runners running through the ‘we’, ‘you’ and ‘they’, runners rushing through the joys, groans and sighs of the ‘lows’ and ‘highs’ on and around the runner’s way. The ruins of reigns of reins are too reined to reign over by the gains of mundane monsoon rains that grain the gains of the preceded or breaded clouds. The rains not enchained with the pains to be one or someone none of the proud crowds that are proud for knowing not what to do, crowds that are proud for long along but know not what/how to cloud or aloud the crowd that mend and tend to lend but do not bend to vend the trends that tend to be free of baseless prides that tried but never could enchain the gains of the mundane-rains by pains or chains or any of the ‘gains’ that are ever found by them in any name. Crowds that are hard heard on the bounds with aloud sounds missing the very grounds and/or rounds that they vend to lend for the bend to amend a mend. At some end such crowds tend to vend or lend to send the bends of mends of their own ends. Free enough not to be one of the prouds of such crowds, the runner runs through the time-space paradigm to reach in time the victory’s chime that never end to fly high the glory’s flag ever to bend. The runner runs like the rushing boy, or try to fly anyway like the sky-butterfly that seldom fly high in the sky. The runner passes through the tears of the nears and dears that through the times of mundane nights and days try to find the reality-chimes of one of the most wanted rhymes – “Cheers ! dears, no more fears or tears, as like always, even in these days we have the ways of the best shining rays.”
The runner is on the rush like a hasty boy, runner is rushing like the busy butterfly, he runs through the eyes flying through the skies that seldom fly, the runner speeded like the tiny shiny arrow, the runner runs like the time’s tiny sparrow that retrieves the things left behind but not to leave the leaves of believes. The runner leaves behind the unkind bloody war, the runner lives through the war that kills now and then every when, the children, women and the men warring with/on/at the war, or even Horse-de-combat or furthermore the lotus of foetus. The runner runs like the timeless shiny arrow, the runner runs like the time-sparrow. The runner runs and runs but never tends to bend to reach the victors’ glory and joy that seldom end.
The runner leaves behind the unkind bloody war, the runner lives through and past the war that kills now and then every when, a war that kills but feels not for the children, women and the men that it kills. The runner runs through the stormy desert full of stone-hills that too seldom feels. Runner runs and runs but never bends and carries with in within the victory’s joy that never ends. The paths are full of wraths and full of pains, the paths which are runned through by the victories which never rein but carry in the caring victories that will ever reign. The runner rushes fast. He must reach the freedom to ever last.
Parabola – 33a.
And the sands of the lands that land through the silver bands of the river-flow, grow and grow in the highs and lows that flow through the river-mouths of the Norths, Easts, Wests and Souths of the minds of the kinds that don’t find the rings of things to bind the behind-minds within them but try to tame the mundane-needs and those of the creeds that they breed to feed and lead through the ways of the waves of life-sea that they seldom see but dives into through the lives they live and believe to be the life. Life is life in the ways as it may be in the sea of life forever to see, through the sights and lights also of darks and shades of the waves of the timepiece of the Time that the times piece into pieces like the pisces in the sea, with time-sign of the 9.
The mind mines are not found in lines though they sway on their ways like the river ways that lay to the bay the gifts of sands of the growing lands being torn and reborn like children every now and then in the chimes of time-paradigms flowing in the sands of lands through the silver bands of water lands blessed with the hopes of grains without undue pains of chains that bite behind and try to bind the minds by causing pains to take away the gains that come through the mundane rains.
The minds or brains ? Where are felt the gains or pains or the chains ? Know not they though they feel the gap and fill in the gaps of the given frame in life’s name, and seldom they use to blame some names but not the rules of the game but fail to claim or to be there on their fate albeit they could not get the gates through the mind though they too could find the kinds of minds to find for gains and not to bind by chains to brain-through the pains of chains to the mains or merely to show the reigns that they may bind the lanes of the brains or minds of the kinds of the lands grown out of the gifts of sands gifted by none of them but by the holy grace through the silver river-bands.
The sands of the lands land through the lands of time’s piece wearing a timepiece with chains of pains and binding not the knots of just lots through the spots but by pains of chains that blot or slot lots of dots trying to ‘dare’ to share and care here and there through the spots of the lots of dots to find and bind the minds of kinds never biting fore or behind and living through the lines of the Nines to spot and find the kinds of minds that ‘dare’ and care to share now and then everywhen, here and there everywhere to grow and flow the kinds of minds of the flowers and growers of the lots of mind-dots and bots of the spots that are sought by the lot of oughts of the bonds of the Eternal Knots.
“Non debet alteri per alterum iniqua conditio inferri.” – Roman Maxim.
“An unfair condition ought not to be brought upon one person by the act of another.”
Parabola – 35
Coherence of hence and thence of the sense of tenses’ lens-glance to sense pretence pre-absence of the children’s dens of dense dreams through the streams they’d ne’er been other than in the streams of dreams that beam their sleep in the days and nights of cosmic lights that may sense the tense of coherence of the lens of thence and hence of the lanes of pre-absence or ab-presence of the doors of mores of cores of lores and the core doors of the lore of mores of the gates of lents that never bent to abuse the views or passions to fuse in the lessons of lesions or lesions of lessons for the time that may chime in the sublime the sweetest dreams, as a kid too dreams to play by the side of dream-streams in the streams of dreams of streams of time that always chime.
Sense of coherence of the dense tense felt by the krills drilling out of thrills of the shades of chill South-sea-hills where till now till the whales without sails of ab-presence of tense of coherence of dens’ dense hence and thence and of tens of tenses now sense pretences not to kvetch but to fetch the kudos of intense sense-judos with the krills that still drill around the bounds of grounds rounding the chill South-sea hills where till now till the ice the price of the long polar nights from the lights of an aurora’s glow that grow and flow in the high and low of the cool high polar-sky.
Coherence of sense of sense of dense tense-lens of a kilt built by the pages of meta-languages through the ages of sages and sages of ages but not by kids kitsch like this one or anyone that paves the babes of waves of a quantum-leap in the deep sea of life not to nip or grip but to make the trip of life to meld and weld the derailed quantums of momentums yet to reach, enrich, teach or preach something anything to share and care with all of us, you and them as some may mayhem in the name of time-frame game, though the game may be decided by all of us, them, you or even by me by the acts on facts in illusions of elisions causing collusions in fusions of confusions barring the rains of gains to overcome the pains of chains or reins and to gain the graces of the races of paces for races’ and paces’ traces to parse the verses near and far anywhere where they, you or we are.
Lens of sense to detect pretences of coherences and differences to be used by someone none who conquers, the conkers which conjure the injured by shirking like sharks, by oracles of coracles weaving the kilt to build the thin of the built-in pages of ages of sages freed from the mazes of the maizes of wages and of the rages of crazes to raise hyacinth on the plinth of monolith time-spaces that parse the verse of sublime chimes in kitsch rhymes of kids yet to be amongst the beings through all of us, them, you or even me. Now tell me, could it be a dense pretence of tense coherences of some unused senses ?
“justa pari premitur veluti cum pondere libra,
Prona, nec hac plus parte sedet, nec surgit ab illa.” Tibullus, iv., 41
[As a just balance pressed with equal weight, neither dips nor rises on either sides.]
Tiny mirrors of shiny mirrors on the hall, shiny mirrors of tiny mirrors make the call, thinking a bout about the forces that recourse the courses to bring the chain of the gains freeing from the pains of coils of toils in a life mundane. Linking the bout about the forces abound that in the days passes off through the masses of bright sunrays thinking about to make use of many of them linking round the doors of force in a different name. Names differ but so far the force do come, some when less but some when more than the sum, somewhere less and somewhere more than the sum of the some that came ago, some come to go, some yet to come to do the sum in the way done by all and not by the some. Tiny mirrors, shiny mirrors on the hall, shiny mirrors, tiny mirrors, make the call -
“Silver night in the sightless sight
Of the crowds that proud not right.
Silent crowd once think aloud in the days
That seldom pays the wage of the age to work through life-ways.”