My diary on the sea-coast

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It was a hard rock to pass into the valley
In the trap of hills and the magnets fallen there;
Each has attraction as if lodestone pulls over.
I have known the place as if my visit,
On the icy land seems to be hard and painstaking;
In every moments my knuckles are grazed with frost bits
To strengthen the biting stress intoning life's race.
It is my diary stitched in the mind with rock salts
In the cooking utensils mixed with meadow.
Rather than moving in the electric strips
For switching the hurdles of mind among risks
Underneath the stretched roots of the trees.
In the dark ocean bars of the shark angrily tethering
For grasping all the enemies at a glance as if
The Saturn and Jupiter are facing together to banish
From the earth and water in the deep ocean Atlantic.
Like the sweet voice in the dreams of a lady
Who are unmarried but immersed to fly in the moon
My diary supplements messages to do some thing;
For the meadow upon the soil where the nature flourish
Day and night to grow lively leaves of the plants
To produce shades of peace everlasting hereinafter.