You see how I try To reach with words What matters most And how I fail.

In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.

There was a time when only wise books were read helping us to bear our pain and misery. This, after all, is not quite the same as leafing through a thousand works fresh from psychiatric clinics. And yet the world is different from what it seems to be and we are other than how we see ourselves in our ravings.

Human reason is beautiful and invincible. No bars, no barbed wire, no pulping of books, No sentence of banishment can prevail against it. It puts what should be above things as they are. It does not know Jew from Greek nor slave from master.

When I die, I will see the lining of the world. The other side, beyond bird, mountain, sunset.

What is poetry which does not save nations or people?

Even if that is so, there will remain A word wakened by lips that perish, A tireless messenger who runs and runs Through interstellar fields, through the revolving galaxies, And calls out, protests, screams.