Form is the fruit of motion; 
And motion branches out from ideas.

Thinker and thinking ought to grow
In rhythm, synchronize to produce plenty.

Behind crops harvested by the world, 
There is a productive garden of schemes.

Behind imagination that blossomed
Into reality, there is a mind of faith.

My dreams wilt, and my hopes wither
Into irreversible crumbs when toxins
Pour into, and flood my brain.

Happiness is at its ripest, 
Set to be served, when the head has
Welcomed enlightenment.