Language is the only homeland.
If I am all mankind, are they themselves without me?
And if there is no lining to the world? If a thrush on a branch is not a sign, But just a thrush on the branch? If night and day Make no sense following each other?
What is poetry which does not save nations or people?
A weak human mercy walks in the corridors of hospitals and is like a half-thawed winter.
Poetry is news brought to the mountains by a unicorn and an echo.