A Flower Without A Stem, Is Beauty

A Flower Without A Stem, Is Beauty Waiting To Die. A Heart Without Love, Is A Tear Waiting To Cry.

Because Two Bodies, Naked And Entwined, Leap Over Time, They Are Invulnerable, Nothing Can Touch Them, They Return To The Source. There Is No You, No I, No Tomorrow, No Yesterday, No Names, The Truth Of Two In A Single Body, A Single Soul, Oh Total Being.

Poetry, In The Past, Was The Center Of Our Society, But With Modernity It Has Retreated To The Outskirts. I Think The Exile Of Poetry Is Also The Exile Of The Best Of Humankind.

A Glass Pitcher, A Wicker Basket, A Tunic Of Coarse Cloth. Their Beauty Is Inseparable From Their Function. Handicrafts Belong To A World Existing Before The Separation Of The Useful And The Beautiful.

Art Is What Remains Of Religion: The Dance Above The Yawning Abyss.