homesick children, mother, come back to thee from the heaven."
The cobweb pretends to catch dew-drops and catches flies.
Love! when you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hand, I can see your face and know you as bliss.
"The learned say that your lights will one day be no more." said the firefly to the stars.
The stars made no answer.
In the dusk of the evening the bird of some early dawn comes to the nest of my silence.
Thoughts pass in my mind like flocks of ducks in the sky.
I hear the voice of their wings.
The canal loves to think that rivers exist solely to supply it with water.
The world has kissed my soul with its pain, asking for its return in songs.
That which oppresses me, is it my soul trying to come out in the open, or the soul of the world knocking at my heart for its entrance?