Few words

Inspiration, purely a boggle, surprises you, daunts you and steers you to a level of unstable transition, temporary it is and even better is the very beauty of muggles - born to love all that lasts never so long unless you know how to see yourself in mirror and smile when you actually see yourself to find your reflection smile, so then, before you get inspired and befuddled by my excellent writing and yet, so honest I am to tell you, how worst writer I am but still, I assure you, the factors do not abut and why should they for, when they do, they make you look good, and that, so quick, they ensnare your senses to leave you believing the hoaxes – you feel proud to listen to Kaku the great, or the-one-on-the-wheels who need no god – professor Arrogonto, the English lord who knows not the sum he owes to Almighty and yet he knows everything because they say so – the best they can do; and so he came to me the other day, his face calm as it should be, trying to leave some bit in mine, and yes he tried somewhat to try but all in vain for, I am shielded with mercy of good, and the his bows of pities wrapped in paralysis could be no good, unlike for them, to surpass my soul educated from he who knows all that he knows, and, some say, he knows nothing and so he knows - the worthlessness of the inverted cauldron (that ‘can’ fill and yet cannot), the aesthetic beauty of doing and  not amalgamating with ‘for’, for, ‘for’ shall bring with it a grave destruction of unmatched equivalency – destruction of values of morality and dutifulness thus inviting the lord on the ‘loka’ of death to stab the beasts with their own fangs and yet, the bad survives because of Lord himself – the most merciful, the most compassionate, to conserve an equilibrium of no entropy (how good it is) except for the parts that rest within, subjected to the obvious fate - the ultimate truth except for the conservation itself or maybe not ( I can’t know) but he knows all and wants us to know the fragrances  we search in alien thoughts is hidden somewhere inside us and the true way to know is to try, for, he is all yours and he is in you so try to try and if you do with all your hearts, fate pays you back – fate is amendable and hence worthless to grieve, fate is anything and hence nothing – a sheet of feeble plasticity proved, my friends, by HE himself – he who has nothing he cannot and yet he does and all these years he ding-dongs your soul, and yet repellent you are – the aid of entropy, you care not and why should you, but he comes and comes again to bless your soul, to fill it up; the hurdle, my friend, the only hurdle is to get your cauldron erect.