Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
God is a cloud from which rain fell.
It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
Holy books are an insult to a God with good intentions.
Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.
