The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.
Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
In the lie of truth lies the truth.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
A big desire is not enough to meet the expectations of lost dreams
