Who will impose silence on a poet’s lips?
Who can go to war without weapons?
The words of a poet: beneficial arrows.
Villainous weapons: terrify the planet…
…Poets die pronouncing eternal words.
Vicious time makes us suffer austere deaths.
It’s a curse that lasts a million serene nights;
but like Lazarus, every poet awaits the voice that proclaims: “Poet, come forth.”