The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
Yet falling in love is not the same as being able to love.
The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.
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.
Consolation Calm down. Both your sins and your good deeds will be lost in oblivion.
What is poetry which does not save nations or people?