Is it possible to write a poem or are these words just screams of outlaws exiled to the desert?
Through a forest of challenges, thought moves and squirms, resisting beguilements; if it endures, it emerges pure.
Long ago an uncalled rain fell and a called-upon God stayed equally distant.
There are many secrets; don’t try to resolve them all.
God is busy and has no time for you.
In the biggest and the smallest I sleep but at the same place I stay.