A Weak Human Mercy Walks In The

Not That I Want To Be A God Or A Hero. Just To Change Into A Tree, Grow For Ages, Not Hurt Anyone.

He Returns Years Later, Has No Demands. He Wants Only One, Most Precious Thing: To See, Purely And Simply, Without Name, Without Expectations, Fears, Or Hopes, At The Edge Where There Is No I Or Not-i.

The Child Who Dwells Inside Us Trusts That There Are Wise Men Somewhere Who Know The Truth.

It Isn't Pleasant To Surrender To The Hegemony Of A Nation Which Is Still Wild And Primitive, And To Concede The Absolute Superiority Of Its Customs And Institutions, Science And Technology, Literature And Art. Must One Sacrifice So Much In The Name Of The Unity Of Mankind?

Only A White-haired Old Man, Who Would Be A Prophet Yet Is Not A Prophet, For He's Much Too Busy, Repeats While He Binds His Tomatoes: No Other End Of The World Will There Be, No Other End Of The World Will There Be.