The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
There can be no forced inspiration.
Holy books are an insult to a God with good intentions.
It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
Hope without love is hopeless.
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.
