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Of Truth."The answer to all questions is the truth". What is truth? In truth, truth cannot be seen. Neither naked, nor armed - our eyes cannot see the truth. Not because we don't want to - some of us, in fact, do. Not because we lie too much - some of us, in fact, do not. Because it is surreal.
"The answer to all questions is the truth". There is a double meaning in that. What did the thinker mean? Perhaps "Whatever the answer, it would be the truth" would sound more appropriate. Hence, there is no such thing as truth. Example? How can we believe this? Well, we can start with drawing a mental scenery of two individuals, sitting opposite each other at a table. In front of them is a piece of paper with a number written on it. "Six!" claims one of them. "Nine!" claims the other. And the THING is - both of them say, what we like to call, the "truth". But let us not use the surreal term any longer. No, they say what they see, and the human eye is eager to deceive. No doubt - no one can speak the tru
SolitudeNow, year by year down my forgotten street
I'm hearing fading footsteps of my friends departing.
The rhythm and the pace, so hideously neat,
Under my window, mind and reason parting.
Neglected and abandoned seem their deeds:
An air, a dismal chant discoloring with ages.
And only on the weary walls "Fulfillment" bleeds,
A silhouette of love that never changes.
Go to, go to, shall fear not wake
You, unprotected souls during this night.
The passion for betrayal, delicate but fake
Will ever want, my friends, to dim your sight.
Oh solitude, your character is stern
With metal compasses, behind my senses lurking,
You make a sudden, unrelenting turn
Around, around, and you complete the fatal circle.
So summon me, and then reward me, -
Just like a pet, waiting to be caressed,
I will be calm, though I will surely not be
Under your loving guard embarrassed.
Let me grow tall in thy unending woods,
On yonder end of a delaying motion,
Let me pick up the leaves, and breathe with childhood,
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