Drowning World

Clouds pass by without swooshing sounds of birds’ wings flapping. A wolf can lay on rock and allow air to carry its pack’s warmth to it. Sky is howling with all kinds of sounds humans cannot, or will not, find. Man call an animal “it”, and think of “it” as a lowly, living thing. I find it unjust for humans to arrogantly don “it” with such a sad connotation, for an animal can act as a man and it has an ability to bond with man. A group of atoms in forms of humans obtain vast information through communication from mouths. A group of atoms in forms of animals gain vast information through paws and wings. To animals, if clouds blind Moon, wind shall blow. A man has no caring about such trivial information.

As our pitiful world turns on and on around a burning sun, humans start to furnish living conditions in vain, trying to bring good humor to daily living. Building with bricks and plowing with furious passion, all for a right to stay in this world. Animals stray in groups, man stay in groups. Man is always inquiring, “it” is always living, and our world is drowning, as always.


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