The purpose of poetry is to remind us / how difficult it is to remain just one person.
I am not my own friend.Time cuts me in two.
Language is the only homeland.
Grow your tree of falsehood from a small grain of truth.
And now I am ready to keep running When the sun rises beyond the borderlands of death. I already see mountain ridges in the heavenly forest Where, beyond every essence, a new essence awaits.
Our memory is childish and it saves only what we need.