On a Rainy Day in July 2017

 

I am not sensitive to emotional and sensual judgements and am preocupied with principled prototypes. And also I am inquiring about the abstract meaning while playing a real number game. I promise to believe in what I see, but my excessive gaze that I am just confronting represents illusion that does not face away. And blink my eyes once more. I am pretending to look at the people who have been deprived of their eyes by the phones in front of them in a bus. What are they really looking for?

 

Turn my gaze and look at me. It is more like a kind of given rather than a choice. It is similar to how a cheerful child is not taught to show such an aspect, but an inherent hidden picture is found. Neither is he an apostle of truth holding a torch of passion, nor is he holding the key to open the storehouse of truth with clever wit.

 

I am just one of the countless passers-by waiting in a long line at such a stop for the bus. I only have the medal of time that I have accepted thatwaiting as my share, and that I will not be greatly disappointed even if the bus I am waiting for does not come. 

 

It is raining continuously from the sky, and among the buses passing by with tails, the number heading for my destination is not visible and gradually darkens.