Parades of desolated water bubbles getting pushed down to surface through a enthralling free fall.
Their war is getting over in a inclined motion of regularity.
Rains are suppressive arts…the fluidity of which happens in the process,
not what we see in front of our possessed eyes and humbled noses.
Like poetries…like paintings full of conflictions…like music,
the process of writing a poetry is more poetic than the poetry itself.
What we see and what we always see are the pandemonium of a repetitive sensation.
And what we feel after we see great arts are our own very personal perceptions.
If you want to hold that old rusty metal then you have to be the digger of it,
there’s no other way.

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Photograph: Gyorgy Kepes.