Now you have grazed the grass of all those dried up pens :
Sit outside all fences.
Surprinsingly appeased, as no attacker roams
Harmoniously faithful as no farmer shelters.
Have they stood anywhere outside your own vision ?
When all the ties dissolve and fences all melt down
the winds of liberty carrying sea incences,
whispering to your ear sacred chants of knowledge,
the worlds over your eyes unveil as fears fall off
riding a silent laugh, profound bliss arises :
« Farmers are the masters
and beliefs are fences »
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