To dream on occasion is not dreaming, To love on occasion is not love.
A word into the silence thrown always finds its echo somewhere where silence opens hidden lexicons.
The world cannot be translated; It can only be dreamed of and touched.
Entering a cell, penetrating deep as a flying saucer to find a new galaxy would be an honorable task for a new scientist interested more in the inner state of the soul than in outer space.
Beyond all vanities, fights, and desires, omnipotent silence lies.
Why poetry, you ask? Because of life, I answer.