You pass through the veins of my grave. The buds are shooting but there are aphids and they kill my existence and struggling hope. Far from lands a tune of a harp echoes and surrounds this cemetry. This tune is of immorality. I wonder if the tune is hope for me of after life. Or it is to let these creatures demolish all what i am left with and then buzz my misery and torment to the days and centuries ahead. Kshitija Jithey itra de wagde ne cho.. Othe mera yaar wasda Jitho langdi ae paun wi khalo Ni othe mera yaar wasda. - Shiv Beauty is truth. Truth beauty. - John Keats Music and poetry is keeping me alive... "Been there felt that" Trust me this too shall pass... ❤️