The “I in me” have always been throbbing to express myself. I had a lot to tell the world, but I didn’t find a world to hear. I want to fill the globe with my thoughts. I didn’t find a globe to be filled. I longed to nourish the earth with my ideas, but I never found an earth to nourish
The “I in me” inside the shell could see only its walls. I jerked to come out and heard a cracking sound. I squeezed through a narrow passage ultimately leading to an open world
Here I find rain and snow, the sun and the moon, the bloom and the blossom, the caterpillars and the butterfly, the egg and the chick, the mother and the child
I am elated. My substance, the edges of which has been subjected to the hunger of the bugs of life, is making a painful attempt to rejuvenate.