The Heart That Is Not In Love

With Every Breath, I Plant The Seeds Of Devotion, I Am A Farmer Of The Heart.

Soul, A Moving River. Body, The Riverbed.

Let Yourself Become Living Poetry.

A Craftsman Pulled A Reed From The Reedbed, Cut Holes In It, And Called It A Human Being. Since Then, It's Been Wailing A Tender Agony Of Parting, Never Mentioning The Skill That Gave It Life As A Flute

I Searched For God And Found Only Myself. I Searched For Myself And Found Only God.