I do not feel like writing verses; but as I light my perfume burner with myrrh and jasmine incense, they suddenly burgeon from my heart, like flowers in a garden.
You have actually waltzed with tremendous style, my sweet, O my sweet, crushed angel.
Only heart to heart can speak the bliss of mystic knowers.
This sky where we live is no place to lose your wings so love, love, love.
The great religions are the ships, Poets the life boats. Every sane person I know has jumped overboard.
I once asked a bird, how is it that you fly in this gravity of darkness? She responded, 'love lifts me.'