We are but the fruit that grows on the vine. We bloom, then we fruit & Ripen; Either we get eaten or, we drop off the vine; Back to the earth, where we turn into the nutrients that feeds the next fruit ready to bloom; & so will our soles reincarnate. The Universe is but a giant Torus! Infinitely devouring itself and recreating itself; All at once.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem