Exile Is More Than A

She Does Not Love You. Your Metaphors Thrill Her You Are Her Poet. But That's All There's To It.

I Am From There. I Am From Here. I Am Not There And I Am Not Here. I Have Two Names, Which Meet And Part, And I Have Two Languages. I Forget Which Of Them I Dream In.

Against Barbarity, Poetry Can Resist Only By Confirming Its Attachment To Human Fragility Like A Blade Of Grass Growing On A Wall While Armies March By.

Nothing, Nothing Justifies Terrorism.

We Are Captives, Even If Our Wheat Grows Over The Fences/ And Swallows Rise From Our Broken Chains./ We Are Captives Of What We Love, What We Desire, And What We Are.