Blessed are the blind, for they are absent in reality of destruction.
Fortunate are the victim of abortion since they live without fluctuation.
Bliss is the mute in saving themselves from bad words.
Sinless are the deaf, for what they only hear is the angelic guitar cords.
 
Arrowed are mongoloids, for a single lollipop will make them happy.
Gracious are the midgets, for becoming a steward in taming the puppy.
Distinct are the writers in seeing the path beyond human,
Noble are farmers in sacrificing themselves though they were not chairman.
 
Maybe reaching the galaxy and Milky Way is not part of my course,
Therefore I should learn not to dream of opening locked doors.
Inner reverie is truly not reserved, for a creature made up of rocks.
Because though it is Christmas, tomorrow I will see my empty socks.
 
I knew now that earthquake, eruption and hurricane can’t help,
Could not change my destiny, for it is missing on my shelf.
That brutalities and cruelties is useless in bringing back the chain,
For it is not simply broken, it is rotten and decaying while passing the lane.
 
Dancing, singing, painting, acting and writing were not part of my purpose,
For happiness and laughter is what a slave should propose.
Being made special and unique is not what I want to prefer,
For it is being simple and ordinary, but I could not prepare.