The year was 1977, when he was born.
Eighteen years, he lived for non.

He stabbed himself to dead,
on twenty fourth of July, 1995.

Couple of days of sorrow and guilt,
made him breath again as a human,
on twenty sixth of July.

Now, Twenty-one longness of his existence,
The century seemed the same as before.

He is still the same as then.

Like if he traveled back and off time.

When will be the next, into the time ahead,
what lies ahead and hereafter, is a chance.

The fullness of time from the era he travelled from,
widely in a vessel of hope, from time to time and millenniums to come,
he have never found the perfect aeons to live.

In search, he travels decade to decade.
Of his destiny…



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