Let me pave a path with the final tenderness for your footsteps as you depart.

I understand the power and the alarm of words – Not those that they applaud from theatre-boxes, but those which make coffins break from bearers and on their four oak legs walk right away.

Love’s ship has foundered on the rocks of life. We’re quits: stupid to draw up a list of mutual sorrows, hurts and pains.

A line is a fuse that’s lit. The line smolders, the rhyme explodes – and by a stanza a city is blown to bits.

No-one knows what huge suns will illuminate the life of the future. It may be that artists will transform the grey dust of the cities into hundred-coloured rainbows; that the never-ending thunderous music of volcanoes will be turned into the sound of flutes resounding from mountain ranges; that ocean waves will be forced to play on nets of chords...

There’s no grandfatherly fondness in me, There are no gray hairs in my soul! Shaking the world with my voice and grinning, I pass you by, – handsome, Twentytwoyearold.

If you like I’ll be furious flesh elemental, or- changing to tones that the sunset arouses- if you like- I’ll be extraordinary gentle, not a man but – a cloud in trousers.

To us love says humming that the heart’s stalled motor has begun working again.

I want to be understood by my country, but if I fail to be understood – what then?, I shall pass through my native land to one side, like a shower of slanting rain.

In the church of my heart the choir is on fire.