The History Of My Stupidity Would Fill

All Was Taken Away From You: White Dresses, Wings, Even Existence.

I Have No Wisdom, No Skills, And No Faith But I Received Strength, It Tears The World Apart. I Shall Break, A Heavy Wave, Against Its Shores And A Young Wave Will Cover My Trace.

You Who Think Of Us: They Lived Only In Delusion... Know That We The People Of The Book, Will Never Die!

They Used To Pour Millet On Graves Or Poppy Seeds To Feed The Dead Who Would Come Disguised As Birds. I Put This Book Here For You, Who Once Lived So That You Should Visit Us No More.

Two Attributes Of A Poet, Avidity Of The Eye And The Desire To Describe That Which He Sees.