If anything needs love it is reality, for it is reality that lacks it the most - I doubt that it was ever loved.

If anything needs love it is reality, for it is reality that lacks it the most - I doubt that it was ever loved.

You are walking in a desert.You hear a bird singing.As absurd as it may seem for a bird to be pending in the desert,you are obligated to make it a tree.That's poem

Poetry relishes ripe fruit - but ripe is one thing and overripe quite another. That's something poetry doesn't like, so it couldn't care less if I were to fall overripe to the ground.

What I try to do is to keep emotion on a tight leash; otherwise, it can never be transubstantiated into poetry.

Love grows by not giving to us. And if our passion for poetry lives on and persists, it is because poetry offers us only its bits of lint.

Poetry contains love and holds it in high esteem, even though love always humiliates it by using it merely as a soothing after-shave lotion.