The Mouth Keeps Silent To Hear The

It Was One Of Those Somber Evenings When The Sighing Of The Wind Resembles The Moans Of A Dying Man; A Storm Was Brewing, And Between The Splashes Of Rain On The Windows There Was The Silence Of Death. All Nature Suffers In Such Moments; The Trees Writhe In Pain And Twist Their Heads; The Birds Of The Fields Cower Under The Bushes; The Streets Of Cities Are Deserted.

Each Memorable Verse Of A True Poet Has Two Or Three Times The Written Content.

The Most Disagreeable Thing That Your Worst Enemy Says To Your Face Does Not Approach What Your Best Friends Say Behind Your Back.

The Only Truth Is Love Beyond Reason.

The Blood Of My Motherland Waters A Magic Plant That Cures All Ills. That Plant Is Art, And Sometimes Art Needs Corruption As A Kind Of Fertilizer