What Are You Going To

I Try To Stay A Civilian, To Live As A Human, Not As A Poet.

Behind All This, Some Great Happiness Is Hiding.

The Memory Of My Father Is Wrapped Up In White Paper, Like Sandwiches Taken For A Day Of Work. Just As A Magician Takes Towers And Rabbits Out Of His Hat, He Drew Love From His Small Body.

I Wanted To Be Calm, Like A Mound With All Its Cities Destroyed, And Tranquil, Like A Full Cemetery.

Every Intelligent Person, Whether Hes An Artist Or Not - A Mathematician, A Doctor, A Scientist - Possesses A Poetic Way Of Seeing And Describing The World.