My mind slumbered in the library of unreality of the world, awaking my thoughts suppressed by the empty headed librarians.
A heart brimmed with voices and ceaseless words but, Just like fiction poems it stayed as an abstraction.
In the middle of night when my mind is awaken poetry runs into my nerves, words soaring high through my brain, and in a complete silence an alcoholic is high on his phrases.
In the world full of unrealism realistic poetries can be the source of realism, yet it lives in the phrases that echoes from the library of my heart.
Lager Than The Life 