I live with your stories retold in my head over and over.

Nothing to believe in.
Everything appears fake.
Realism and faith are necessary for poetry writing.
Can't escape poetry, though; writing poetry is the breath of my soul.

Detachment is the path to salvation

Days without poetry
              are
emotional droughts.

A botched attempt at interpretation.

Why are people looking for justifications to leave? A phoney smile was all they had done when they entered.

What more can be said?
What more can be written?
What more can be asked?
Everything comes to a worthless ending.

Despite my reservations, you have often stated that we are two sides of the same coin.
So why can't I see your face on it right now?
I strongly believe that in order to destroy anything that I perceive to be an ideal, you removed the side of the coin that bore your face.

Who shows the way to lightning?
It always takes its own path but illuminates it.

In the same way, we should not plan anything in life. We should forge our own path, but illuminate it as we go.

They were gone.
I was left out.
They returned.
I stayed away.

We need a heart that is bigger than average if every decision we make leads to eventual regret.

I had the feeling that things may have turned out differently if I had waited a little while longer.
But based on my personal experience, I don't think anything would have changed.
I just would have waited a little bit longer, that's all.

Let all of our thoughts and deeds be indescribable. The source of excellence is mystifying mastery.

Does the mind have a mind of its own?
If so, whose commands are we following while we live?

When luck and fate sing the same melody in celebration of our hard work, our dreams become a reality.

Everywhere there are difficult scenes. Life is struggling to keep its meaning for its followers.

A mind free of regret is immortal.

Is it a sign of good fortune if you recover something you lost in life in a dream?

Irrational thoughts.
Throbbing aches.
Overwhelming guilt.
Mind begs for salvation.

For us to be poets, the incessantly silent melody in our hearts must continue.

Face crucified by time.
Mind stabbed by reality.
Life marooned by desires.

Hold me not.
Life has gotten heavier.
I'm sinking.

An emotional brew of rage and depression..
Isolation, but karma is after you.
Reconciliation with destiny, but Life is unwilling to go along.
Faced with foes and left to one's own devices.
The verdict is still out: failure.

A person's anger, which is the product of enduring years of humiliation, finally transforms him into a source of infinite compassion.

From now on, let's meet in dreams in order to let go of all ties to the real world, to avoid everyone's malicious gaze for all time, and to float endlessly in the sea of joyous poetry.

Sun, please allow me to apply sunscreen on your scorching face so that you won't bake us to death with your hot, blistering rays.

I was able to cheer up a crying kid today.
Life seemed to be worthwhile.

Let my words fill the empty spaces, fill the eyes that perceive light in the darkness, even if they don't shine or inspire.

Lord, I beseech thee to grant peace to all wretched souls who wander in search of it. Lord, if you do not grant peace to these souls, they will sow seeds of doubt in every heart and cause upheavals in a society riven by unrest.

Life is a process of resolution, not reaction.

The world becomes apparent when the unlit eyes receive the visionless light.

The mind that believes the past was positive is distressed now, as it was then.

What grabs the eye is transient, but what grabs the heart is eternal.

I squeezed the azure sky with my poetically charged fists.
The earth was covered in a blue ocean. Everything turned bluish! The one-color world blinded humans' criminally discriminating eyes.