It is never mystical, it is never fictional, and is not going to be imagination. Because, what eyes sees speak volume of the real life that the flesh and bones can’t leave to wear as each day passes. The meaning of life has being taken already before having it. It means, before getting it is an unending battle to toil with the height of using hands to break rock to pieces. This is how each day beg to have today when already tomorrow is very narrow, because the same today still carry the face of tomorrow. For the heart to bleed with many sorrows that soar it with wounds, reflects how centuries have undergone the sword that cut the flesh, living it with ponderous pain the heart weigh, when sees heritage of past still walk over the head, walking for continuity. To doubt this is heritage of soreness is to spit and wait for it to get dry. It is not suddentity neither is it a mistake. It is a factual reality which the tabloid of history speaks no falsification to see how burden is transf