I was a tiny bug. Now a mountain. I was left behind. Now honored at the head. You healed my wounded hunger and anger, and made me a poet who sings about joy.
My souls sits in silence, and then asks again, where are you in all of this?
Love is the reality, and poetry is the drum.
If you have not learned to be a passionate lover, do not count your life as lived. On the day of reckoning, it will not be counted.
Don't look for Love, look for the one looking for Love.
Awake asleep ought to be with us - So he may see dreams in wakefulness.