What is poetry which does not save nations or people?

I was left behind with the immensity of existing things. A sponge, suffering because it cannot saturate itself; a river, suffering because reflections of clouds and trees are not clouds and trees.

A man should not love the moon. An ax should not lose weight in his hand. His garden should smell of rotting apples, And grow a fair amount of nettles.

You who think of us: they lived only in delusion... Know that we the People of the Book, will never die!

Yet falling in love is not the same as being able to love.

For a country without a past is nothing, a word That, hardly spoken, loses its meaning, A perishable wall destroyed by flame, An echo of animal emotions.

Not that I want to be a god or a hero. Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone.