It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
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.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
Wherever there is somebody else, a war is not far away.
Hope without love is hopeless.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
