We Suffer From An Incurable

Life Defined Only As The Opposite Of Death Is Not Life.

Far Away, Our Dreams Have Nothing To Do With What We Do. The Wind Carries The Night, And Passes On, Aimless.

The Poem Is In My Hands, And Can Run Stories Through Her Hands.

Poetry And Beauty Are Always Making Peace. When You Read Something Beautiful You Find Coexistence; It Breaks Walls Down.

Exile Is More Than A Geographical Concept. You Can Be An Exile In Your Homeland, In Your Own House, In A Room.