One Day, I Will Be A Poet.

Far Away, Our Dreams Have Nothing To Do With What We Do. The Wind Carries The Night, And Passes On, Aimless.

Against Barbarity, Poetry Can Resist Only By Confirming Its Attachment To Human Fragility Like A Blade Of Grass Growing On A Wall While Armies March By.

And What I Don't Understand I Grasp It Only When It's Too Late.

I See Poetry As Spiritual Medicine.

... For Me It Is Essential, Essential For The Poet To Have A New Toast, New Songs.