He Who Loses His Mother Loses A

When You Were A Wandering Desire In The Mist, I Too Was There, A Wandering Desire. Then We Sought One Another, And Out Of Our Eagerness Dreams Were Born. And Dreams Were Time Limitless, And Dreams Were Space Without Measure.

Spare Me The Political Events And Power Struggles, As The Whole Earth Is My Homeland And All Men Are My Fellow Countrymen.

Hate Is A Dead Thing. Who Of You Would Be A Tomb?

A Poet Is A Bird Of Unearthly Excellence, Who Escapes From His Celestial Realm Arrives In This World Warbling. If We Do Not Cherish Him, He Spreads His Wings And Flies Back Into His Homeland.

To Know The Pain Of Too Much Tenderness