The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.
It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
There can be no forced inspiration.
God is a cloud from which rain fell.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
In the lie of truth lies the truth.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.
Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
