Books, Movies, Photography and Fun. Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email. When is time to let go? Everything comes to an end eventually. Leaves part from the branches,. Nights turn into days, and days strip their clothes for nights. Breath enters and leaves the body born waiting to die? But when does it end,. The crackling of wood burning in the fire,. Where does it stop? .

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Only I am not my contemporary. I was born one day. In a dish of morality. Kills itself at birth,. But there, it is killed. Once I got shot in Hanoi,. Later, smoke hung in the air. I wonder if one day some day. I could be my contemporary.

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A Silent poet shouting to be heard. My first shipment of Whispers I silently Heard! I already sold two autographed copies and going to the post office this afternoon to mail them off. One full of anger one full of hope intertwining seeking absolution seeking.