What we call life is only talk of nature.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
A big desire is not enough to meet the expectations of lost dreams
Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible; the world has written its own.
Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.