What is justice?
What is equality?
What is freedom?
This is just my fantasy of a hair on the skin of life, which leads to this absurd book.
Irises bloom in the world, burning away half of the hustle and bustle. But half of it was broken into pieces, hidden among the clouds, and a piece of crying smoke; the clouds passed by and the crows of wild geese were seen, looking at the blue sky, the blue sky was split and the Milky Way water flowed, and three mountains could be seen thousands of miles up.
Orioles, swallows, swallows, and flowers hold the dead snow in their hands to wash away sorrow and resentment,
If it can't be washed and dried, how can we sing to our souls?
Then the soul blossoms, and thousands of flowers of life turn into stars,
Under the rustle, it is justice.
Intention: life, belonging, survival or death? Watch or help?