My poems are more my silence than my speech. Just as music is a kind of quiet. Sounds are needed only to unveil the various layers of silence.

We cling to words like drowning men to straws. But still we drown, we drown.

I’ve learned to value failed conversations, missed connections, confusions. What remains is what’s unsaid, what’s underneath. Understanding on another level of being.

I am that which lies beyond time. Like a melody, which sounds completely only after the last note is played.

I don’t write poetry when I wish, I write when I can’t, when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut.

Letters of the condemned. Last words scratched on a cell’s wall. To write like that.

I’m moved by everything broken and crippled. Since that’s how we really are.