I wish I were a candle in the darkness.
Far away, our dreams have nothing to do with what we do. The wind carries the night, and passes on, aimless.
To be under occupation, to be under siege, is not a good inspiration for poetry.
She does not love you. Your metaphors thrill her you are her poet. But that's all there's to it.
We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are.
My homeland is not a suitcase, and I am no traveller