It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
In the lie of truth lies the truth.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
There can be no forced inspiration.
The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
Wherever there is somebody else, a war is not far away.
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
