Poetry Is A Dividend From What You

Love Means To Look At Yourself The Way One Looks At Distant Things For You Are Only One Thing Among Many.

All Was Taken Away From You: White Dresses, Wings, Even Existence. Yet I Believe You, Messengers. There, Where The World Is Turned Inside Out, A Heavy Fabric Embroidered With Stars And Beasts, You Stroll, Inspecting The Trustworthy Seams.

Religion Used To Be The Opium Of The People. To Those Suffering Humiliation, Pain, Illness, And Serfdom, Religion Promised The Reward Of An After Life. But Now, We Are Witnessing A Transformation, A True Opium Of The People Is The Belief In Nothingness After Death, The Huge Solace, The Huge Comfort Of Thinking That For Our Betrayals, Our Greed, Our Cowardice, Our Murders, We Are Not Going To Be Judged.

It Isn't Pleasant To Surrender To The Hegemony Of A Nation Which Is Still Wild And Primitive, And To Concede The Absolute Superiority Of Its Customs And Institutions, Science And Technology, Literature And Art. Must One Sacrifice So Much In The Name Of The Unity Of Mankind?

Consolation Calm Down. Both Your Sins And Your Good Deeds Will Be Lost In Oblivion.