Will it make me wiser if I visit all the museums around the world to witness the junk of histories?
If not then to other one,
where people go to pray to the concretes of mythology?
If today, I declare myself a saint will all my sins wash itself into blissful truth?
Wildflowers might smell of
exquisiteness with my caress.
Sometimes it's hard not to wonder, especially on the days of dark.
On these days, I hope for a better world then the one we live in.
Where we abide so much by hope.
Where scientists are busy discovering new ways to kill.
Where group of men hold power to invade houses, ruin cities, kill men, rape women, train childrens to hate,
until euphoria slips away from the streets of such places.
I guess it doesn't matter.
At the end of the day nothing ever matters.
Except for the songs of the poet,
that hold so many stories, within itself.
Or perhaps words of the sailor,
watching everything silently from the center of the sea.
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