I Felt That Paris Was

A Poet's Mission Is To Make Others Confound Fiction And Reality In Order To Render Them, For An Hour, Mysteriously Happy.

Nobody Has Seen The Trekking Birds Take Their Way Towards Such Warmer Spheres As Do Not Exist, Or Rivers Break Their Course Through Rocks And Plains To Run Into An Ocean Which Is Not To Be Found. For God Does Not Create A Longing Or A Hope Without Having A Fulfilling Reality Ready For Them. But Our Longing Is Our Pledge, And Blessed Are The Homesick, For They Shall Come Home.

I Have A Feeling That Wherever I May Be In The Future, I Will Be Wondering Whether There Is Rain At Ngong.

I Had A Farm In Africa, At The Foot Of The Ngong Hills.

Within Our Whole Universe The Story Only Has The Authority To Answer That Cry Of Heart Of Its Characters, That One Cry Of Heart Of Each Of Them: "who Am I?"