Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.

You not only are hunted by others, you unknowingly hunt yourself.

From whichever side I start, I think I am in an old place where others have been before me.

A smiling lie is a whirlwind, easy to enter, but hard to escape.

The same word we love and hate, leaves in different directions, taking different paths.

It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.

For a game, you don’t need a teacher.

Different languages, the same thoughts; servant to thoughts and their masters.

Nature is an outcry, unpolished truth; the art—a euphemism—tamed wilderness.

In the essence of truth lies deceit.

In a myriad of ways you tell one truth.

I imagined I was God for a millisecond And became speechless for a long time.

God is a cloud from which rain fell.

Devil and God – two sides of the same face.

Cosmos is God, who whispered the syllable of life.

God is busy and has no time for you.

When following God, Zero we never find.

The world is God's salvation.

Deliver thunder, GodIf you choose not to talk.

New Rome will be destroyedBy the attacks of new vandals.God always remains silent.

To hide feelings when you are near crying is the secret of dignity.

It is beautiful to express love and even more beautiful to feel it.

Wherever I go, I meet myself.

I visited many places, Some of them quite Exotic and far away, But I always returned to myself.

Use the wings of the flying Universe, Dream with open eyes; See in darkness.

There is another alphabet, whispering from every leaf, singing from every river, shimmering from every sky.

I am the shore and the ocean, awaiting myself on both sides.

The most complicated skill is to be simple.

Since there is no real silence, Silence will contain all the sounds, All the words, all the languages, All knowledge, all memory.

To risk life to save a smile on a face of a woman or a child is the secret of chivalry.

There is no competition of sounds between a nightingale and a violin.

Words rich in meaning can be cheap in sound effects.

Be aware of the high notes, of the blissful faces and their soft messages, and listen for the silent message of a highly decorated gift.

Everything that looks too perfect is too perfect to be perfect.

He knows he will be born again, And start fresh anew.

He had an answer to almost everything and he retired at an early age.

We don’t know anything about silent sages, buried knowledge, the eye of the mute poet, serene seers, yet how many talkative destroyers, prophets and ideologues, teachers and beautifiers there are on the other side.

The night is still waiting.

Dream by making and make by dreaming.

Entering a cell, penetrating deep as a flying saucer to find a new galaxy would be an honorable task for a new scientist interested more in the inner state of the soul than in outer space.

Heavenly bodies are nests of invisible birds.

To come to nothing through something is the way to outside from both sides.

To sense the peace of extinguished passionHappiness in not knowing the ultimate knowledge

Hope without love is hopeless.

When the star dies, Its eye closes; tired of watching, It flies back to its first bright dream.

If birth is a manifestation of life, death is another.

Life into death— Life’s other shape, No rupture, Only crossing.

Every thought about death takes a moment of life away.

To hear never-heard sounds, To see never-seen colors and shapes, To try to understand the imperceptible Power pervading the world; To fly and find pure ethereal substances That are not of matter But of that invisible soul pervading reality. To hear another soul and to whisper to another soul; To be a lantern in the darkness Or an umbrella in a stormy day; To feel much more than know. To be the eyes of an eagle, slope of a mountain; To be a wave understanding the influence of the moon; To be a tree and read the memory of the leaves; To be an insignificant pedestrian on the streets Of crazy cities watching, watching, and watching. To be a smile on the face of a woman And shine in her memory As a moment saved without planning.

To the knights of faith nobody believes.

I lose faith in mathematics, logical and rigid. What with those that even zero doesn’t accept?

A word only writes Its night and ridesIts dream.

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible the world has written its own.

To write good poems is the secret of brevity.

If we were to understand how important it is to say something and say it well, maybe we wouldn’t write a single word, but that would be tragic.

There can be no forced inspiration.

You don’t know anything, but I know even less.

Total knowledge is annihilation Of the desire to see, to touch, to feel The world sensed only through senses And immune to the knowledge without feeling.

Omnipotence and omniscience are the end of power and knowledge.

There are too many literati, yet very few are smart; knowledge is acquired far too easily.

Busy with the ugliness of the expensive success We forget the easiness of free beautyLying sad right around the corner, Only an instant removed, Unnoticed and squandered.

You mark and celebrate errors, transforming failures into successes.

Accidents are not accidents but precise arrivals at the wrong right time.

Without space, there is no time.

He did not waste time in a vain search for a place in history.

There is only as much space, only as much time, Only as much desire, only as many words, Only as many pages, only as much ink To accept all of us at light-speed Hurrying into the Promised Land Of oblivion that is waiting for us sooner or later.

It is vain futility to analyze the algebra of time.

It is futile to spend time telling stories about the fleetness of each day.

Pose your questions to people and you will get countless useless answers.

All people are enslaved by something.

Some people complain there are too many people on earth, Some people complain about secret societies, Some people accuse others of not being able to wake up early. Almost all people complain about something.

Dreams are our only geography—our native land.

A hidden spark of the dream sleeps In the forest and waits In the celestial spheres of the brain.

Two forces create eternity – a fairy tale and a dream from the fairy tale.

A big desire is not enough to meet the expectations of lost dreams.

Into the day as by dream I swim To the music of nourished meaning.

You ask how it is possible to be your own father and son. You should seek answers, although it is better to anticipate some, to be the light and dream.

It is easy to arrange the words in a story born out of a dream; for a story without a dream, a story itself is not enough.

It is beautiful to talk about beautiful things and even more beautiful to silently gaze at them.

There is something perfect to be found in the imperfect: the law keeps balance through the juxtaposition of beauty, which gains perfection through nurtured imperfection.

Beauty is a cheap word, but beauty remains priceless.

Art is apotheosis; often, the complaint of beauty.

Perfection seems sterile; it is final, no mystery in it; it's a product of an assembly line.

In trying to be perfect, He perfected the art of anonymity, Became imperceptible And arrived nowhere from nowhere.

We love the imperfect shapes in nature and in the works of art, look for an intentional error as a sign of the golden key and sincerity found in true mastery.

Sound unbound by nature becomes bounded by art.

Serious affairs and history are carefully laid snares for the uninformed.

Creators of history always play with our impotence and our ignorance.

History will be erased in the universal purgatory.

What we call life is only talk of nature.

Since nothing is absolute There is no absolute silence, Only an appearance Of temporary peace.

To transform a grimace into a sound sounds impossible, yet it is possible to transform a vision into music, to go outside an enslaved personality, to become impersonal by transforming into sand, into water, into light.

When he is most powerful, nothing does he become.

Pretense cannot sustain blind power.

My feelings are too loud for words and too shy for the world.

The world is always open, Waiting to be discovered.

This dwarf still observes the world from his own self-imposed height.

I enjoy it when the world smiles; the more smiles, the warmer I am.

The world is a navy in an empty ocean.

If an ancient man saw planes two thousand years ago He would've thought they were birds Or angels from another world Or messengers from other planets.

When magic through nerves and reason passes, Imagination, force, and passion will thunder. The portrait of the world is changed.

Arrival in the world is really a departure and that, which we call departure, is only a return.

The world contained in a seed, Determined by its program.

Courage is more important than to be deceived by shallow victory waiting for a delayed defeat.

Every man needs his Siren To check his courage and strength When he hears her song In his travels through the unknown.

Creating means living.

It is not possible to express the most precious insights, To see all that craves to be seen, To visit even the closest neighbors in the universe, To learn all that needs to be learned, To live without dying, And I am sad about it.But I livedAnd I am happy about that.

While gazing at myself from yourself, I was beautiful.

He will understand when it is too late that it is easier to love.

What you gain here, you lose on the other side.

Long ago we conquered our passions looking at ourselves in the mirror of eternity.

In greatness, life and death merge.

From one bell all the bells toll.

Long ago an uncalled rain fell and a called-upon God stayed equally distant.

They are both spectacular, Life and death.

One hand I extend into myself, the other toward others.

I travel, always arriving in the same place.

My mathematics is simple: one plus one = one.

We will go far away, to nowhere, to conquer, to fertilize until we become tired. Then we will stop and there will be our home.

Through everything I have passed but nowhere I have been.

All dust is the same dust. Temporarily separated To go peacefully And enjoy the eternal nap.

And this that you call solitude is in fact a big crowd.

Life eats life to live.

Mathematics doesn’t care about those beyond the numbers.

Neither alive nor dead; No one lets up, No one wins.

He awaits himself while walking, out of the icy circle to escape.

Instead of imitating me, you simply loiter.

To jump over centuries In one step is impossible. Jump too high or far, You’ll be way too late.

In the end, the world returns to a grain.

Death swallows death.

Vandals listen only when others are stronger.If vandals are equal or strongerTheir word is the last word.

In the biggest and the smallest I sleep but at the same place I stay.

Every star was once darker than the night, before it awoke.

If emptiness is empty, how can something be borne or awaken from it?

Nothing is part of everything.

What does infinity mean to you? Are you not infinity and yourself?

Will the day tell its secret Before it disappears, Becomes timeless night.

From what you didn’t say, lies that you did say.

I can see myself before myself—A being through dark scenery.

The farther away, the closer the home becomes.

There is nobody to wake up eternal seekers.

If emptiness is endless, then everything rests in emptiness.

When everything hurries everywhere, nothing goes anywhere.

You are hurrying to the sweet place, To the nonsense chasing your spirit And in the nonsense you look for answers.

There are no clear borders, Only merging invisible to the sight.

The eyesight for an eagle is what thought is to a man.

From everything, nothing looks to nothing.

Digressions are part of harmony, deviations too.

There is a pledge of the big and of the small in the infinite.

Without nothing, everything would be nothing.

From nothing comes everything.

Earth is the source of light.

With your goal you make the one.

Although personal calling I sense,Who am I? even if I am, I don't know.

When within yourself you find the road, the right road will open.

To leave out beautiful sunsets is the secret of good taste.

To keep the air fresh among words is the secret of verbal cleanliness.

In every sound, the hidden silence sleeps.

To say more while saying less is the secret of being simple.

To expect to be kissed having bad breath is the secret of a fool.

No reason for a feverish rush For we will all arrive in the same place At the right time. Justice will be served. There will be no better or worse, No big and small, no rewards, no punishment, No guilt, no judges, no hierarchies; Only silent equality.

When I want to be reminded of stupidity, especially my own, I turn on the TV.

Based on the law of probability Everything is possible because The sheer existence of possibility Confirms the existence Of impossibility.

To cut and tighten sentences is the secret of mastery.

In an endless silence even screams sound silent.

To understand possible means to understand impossible.

To not say all that can be said is the secret of discipline and economy.

Unjustified ambition kills value,Kills someone else's desire to fly, Cuts their wings, sucks their air.If there is nothing else, it eats its own life.

A star needs a star.

To go against the grain is the secret of bravery.

We traveled long and forgot why poetry was invented.

To go where no one else has ever gone before is the secret of heroism.

Those who hate rain hate life.

Nothing reminds us of an awakening more than rain.

When all is lost, there is still a memory.

Possible is more a matter of attitude, A matter of decision, to choose Among the impossible possibilities, When one sound opportunity Becomes a possible solution.

If you are only what you are, You at least have a chance Not to outsmart, But be on a par with yourself And that is worth trying.

To accomplish the perfect perfection, a little imperfection helps.

I fly through memory to find a newborn love.

Why poetry, you ask? Because of life, I answer.

There is always the question why And there is always life, Which doesn't need an answer.

Oblivion cures the old wounds.

To dream on occasion is not dreaming, To love on occasion is not love.

Senses empower limitations, senses expand vision within borders, senses promote understanding through pleasure.

Great poets are great copy editors.

When there is noise and crowds, there is trouble; When everything is silent and perfect, There is just perfection and nothing To fill the air.

Possible impossibility emerges From an impossible possibility, Or possibly, impossible possibility Blooms from the impossibly possible impossibility.

Everything seems impossible And everything seems possible.

Without pleasure there is no sight or measure.

There is no born lover, There is no born Don Juan, For we are all lovers.

Too often, feelings arrive too soon, waiting for thoughts that often come too late.

He tries to find the exit from himself but there is no door.

Tell me something only you know and make a new friend.

Before the first before and after the last after, there is night waiting.

Trying too hard to be too good, even when trying to be bad, is too good for the bad, too bad for the good.

Love is almost never simple.

A word into the silence thrown always finds its echo somewhere where silence opens hidden lexicons.

They will smile, as they always do when they plan a major attack late in the night.

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Is that all?

Although all days are equally long regardless of the season, some days are long not only seasonally but by rewards they offer.

Our desire to say more grows bigger and what to say about it, except that saying is not always about saying, growing is not always about growing.

Nobility is not only in forgiveness.

Forget decorated generals, tell me about Private Ryan.

For a moment at least, be a smile on someone else’s face.

Strangers are endearing because you don’t know them yet.

They blossomed, they did not talk about blossoming.

There are no winners in real games.

Don’t pay attention to those who offer too much.

It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.

The game itself is bigger than the winning.

If you are good, they say you are weak.

Beyond all vanities, fights, and desires, omnipotent silence lies.

We like to admit to only that which already glows, although it is nobler to support brightness before it glows, not afterwards.

If what we think of ourselves were true, the planet would overflow with geniuses.

The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.

Christ did not ask or want to be what he was not.

Is it possible to write a poem or are these words just screams of outlaws exiled to the desert?

Disease often comes with a smiling face.

All those big words produce disgust today.

Statesmen are grocers, ambitious clowns.

Your head is a lit chamber.

Either you will be you or you will not be at all.

Whatever others may say, they say it to deceive and comfort themselves, not help you.

A breeze, a forgotten summer, a smile, all can fit into a storefront window.

We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.

The deeper thought is, the taller it becomes.

Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.

How many unuttered words died in the heads of those for whom a word was too expensive.

We forget old stories, but those stories remain the same.

Do not look too far for you will see nothing.

Everybody talks, but there is no conversation.

In the lie of truth lies the truth.

We measure everything by ourselves with almost a necessary conceit.

How alive is thought, invisible, yet without thought there is no sight.

We built tall buildings, but we have not become any taller.

Teaching others, he corrected himself.

We need knew knights, but without swords.

Truth is hard-hearted and unrelenting, too clear, precise; a lie is much more imaginative.

How does one say something new and not retell?

After Homer and Dante, is a whole century of creating worth one Shakespeare?

His Highness was always confident in his statements, especially about what he viewed for the first time.

Now that we are all so smart, we don’t easily find resolutions.

Holy books are an insult to a God with good intentions.

He did not profess to anybody how to reach others without professing.

Wherever there is somebody else, a war is not far away.

Say No! Accept the burdens of revenge.

If you could have walked on the planet before humans lived here, maybe the Ivory Coast would have seemed more beautiful than La Côte d'Azur.

When the long bygone Lee Po wanted to say something, he could do it with only a few words.

Infinity is the end. End without infinity is but a new beginning.

Knighthood lies above eternity; it doesn’t live off fame, but rather deeds.

Life is only a flicker of melted ice.

Get close to grass and you’ll see a star.

Eternity is a glorious word, but eternity is ice.

Existence is the end of endless eternity without a beginning or an end.

Universe is the Sun watching its own self.

Sunbathe from within.

Absolute equals nothingness.

Stars are only the rain of the Absolute.

Sun is a hearthstone, a merry-go-round of extinguished hearthstones.

Real geniuses would like that what we think of ourselves is true.

Deceit dispels the boredom of the Absolute.

Procreation annihilates eternity.

The universe is God's son.

Through words to the meaning of thoughts with no words.

Absolute is a game with only one player where Absolute forgets itself so it would have a reason to fulfill the motion while returning.

A word was more valuable to them when they were not sure of its value. Since they became famous, their word has been more expensive but its value is less.

We don’t know who was tricked by whom. Did the writer deceive the word, or did the word deceive the writer?

A number is still very accurate, but its role is changed.In the changed role this number enriches the silence.

In its proper role, a number counts the missing words.

A word is not filling in the gaps, but the fertilization of silence.

Unwritten words grow out of silence.

Everything and nothing are the same in the Absolute.

Burning the witch Giordano Bruno is one more wound inflicted on Christ’s body.

Many writers were better before they became famous.

There are literary works that speak for themselves and there are writers who boast through work.

Names do not write poems nor do they create work.

Anyone who writes can be called a writer because they write.

Those who would like to become writers attend courses on writing poetry and prose and analyze their own work and that of other writers in development. Teachers teach them that talent is not required and that anyone, who wants to be a writer, can do it if they only master the technique of writing and master the formulas of the genre that they choose. With a little brain storming ideas written on cards, as well as designs and plans on the table, one can even write a novel in a month. There is no secret; the whole secret is in the technique, a little research, and the rest is solved by form, according to a formula, in which it is all nicely wrapped up and packaged. And so, a bestseller is born.

What are all these writers fighting for? For their own victory or for the victory of their profession?

A poem that is itself a name does not yearn for the name of its creator, but shines from its name alone.

A poem does not radiate from the name, but the name emanates from the poem.

The name does not deserve the poem, but the poem deserves the name.

In a real poem a sound does not swallow a letter, but a letter swallows a sound.

An unrewarded value is more valuable than a reward with no value.

Knowing how to dream is more important than the story, because the story tells itself.

The length of novels, poems and stories, is measured by the number of missing words; a thousand pages become one, one becomes a thousand.

A well paid word deceives them. And what kind of a word is a word that has a price, high or low, which is adjusted to the price of fame, and how, long ago, when it was little appreciated, was it more valuable than it is today with a big price?

Everything passes through the eyes of top bureaucrats who closely watch to ensure that no intruder can enter their ranks and disrupt the order and arrangement of values in which everything is predetermined and where everyone knows their place, everyone’s potential, talent and position in history.

They forget that love is not a science but an inherent state of mind; they forget that sex is practiced by animals without textbooks and that it is not such a secret that requires a complete science, courses and special training. And so impotent, with artificial stars on the ceilings of their rooms, they become the main teachers on the way to the stars.

There are anonymous poems and poets without poems.

A poem is its own name and cover.

Good is not always good.

The purpose of life is life.

There are those who speak and those who dream.

Neruda had his first dream, First meeting with the Moon and the Sun In sunny La Mancha, hiding in his heart,Where he learned how to sing like a nightingale.

They read a little bit, write a little, and especially agree with themselves on important moves, important information, important awards, important writers that they plan to enthrone forever in history through a variety of memberships and numerous prizes awarded under the influence of top bureaucrats who know everything, not only about literature, but also about secret conspiracies, the Masons that lurk in every corner to crucify someone, steal someone’s soul and sell it to an unknown devil, about whom only the chief bureaucrat possesses secret knowledge that he doesn’t share; about history, ghosts, missing continents; about who said what to whom in confidence.

Is my victory real, does the winner adorned with a laurel wreath ask this question? Do I deserve victory or did I steal it from someone who is more worthy of victory?

Everything is much easier in the half-blind and half-deaf world of modern giants that seduce processions of the blind into the world of great emptiness. In their sky the stars shine and their names live in the parallel and independently of their work.

It is enough to write a few lines about tanks in the streets in some sad country, about a clear injustice, which requires no description; it is enough to move from one side to another, to satisfy someone’s taste, the need of the moment, the need for “big” games to take a peek into everything and to prove everything with cheap opinions formed almost on command, almost as a recipe of measured pain to resolve the crisis, to extinguish the pain based on a few words that don’t change anything except that they flatter vanity and a misguided interest in all dimensions of life and creation, in the air that is being poisoned by smoke from cars, smoke from the television screens, the smoke curtains of politicians, left and right, the smoke of films and pop culture, smokescreens of intelligence that finds an explanation for all this, makes up theories, finds justification for the schizophrenic decisions of the new rulers, for wars, agreements, contracts; finds justification for obedience, for the sale of beliefs under the disguise of conviction, for several awards, for a few moments of illusion in the hocus-pocus world where the truth does not interest anyone anymore, except for ways for lies to be packaged and sold as the greatest truth with the help of big intellectuals that will find a good argument, a good defense and justification for everything, since everything becomes much easier, if a hoax is supported by “scientific” evidence.

Almost as a rule, political dissidents were writers.