Even If A Poet Writes About Sitting

Here (jerusalem), Tears Do Not Weaken The Eyes, They Only Polish And Shine The Hardness Of Faces Like Stone.

I Try To Stay A Civilian, To Live As A Human, Not As A Poet.

I Think The End Is Endless. It's Either A Big Black Hole Or A Big White Light Or Both Together. But It's Totally Meaningless, Because Even If Someone Would Explain It, I Wouldn't Understand It.

Love Is Like A Reservoir Of Kindness And Pleasure, Like Silos And Pools During A Siege.

Behind All This, Some Great Happiness Is Hiding.