There is no deep hatred, no subversion of sentient beings;
There are no ups and downs, only those who silently caress away the traces of time for their relatives and loved ones in the journey of life: with smiles and hands, the city is noisy, but there is still a piece of pure land, a besieged city of one's own.
It is more real than any promise. It is a kind of belonging, just a way, suitable for oneself...
Intention: