“I'm in love!Your advice, what are they?Love has poisoned me!Your remedies, what are they?I hear them shout: "fast, Bind him feet!"But if my heart that has gone mad!Those strings on my feetWhat is the point?”

“Your magnificence has made me a wonder. Your charm has taught me the way of love.”

“Go back,go back to sleep.Yes, you are allowed.You who have no Love in your heart,you can go back to sleep.The power of Loveis exclusive to us,you can go back to sleep.I have been burntby the fire of Love.You who have no such yearning in your heart,go back to sleep.The path of Love,has seventy-two folds and countless facets.Your love and religionis all about deceit, control and hypocrisy,go back to sleep.I have torn to pieces my robe of speech,and have let go of the desire to converse.You who are not naked yet,you can go back to sleep.”

“The Ripe FigNow that You live here in my chest,anywhere we sit is a mountaintop.And those other images,which have enchanted peoplelike porcelain dolls from China,which have made men and women weepfor centuries, even those have changed now.What used to be pain is a lovely benchwhere we can rest under the roses.A left hand has become a right.A dark wall, a window.A cushion in a shoe heel,the leader of the community!Now silence. What we sayis poison to someand nourishing to others.What we say is a ripe fig,but not every bird that flieseats figs.”

“In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.”

“Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.”

“A Thirsty FishI don't get tired of you. Don't grow wearyof being compassionate toward me!All this thirst equipmentmust surely be tired of me,the waterjar, the water carrier.I have a thirsty fish in methat can never find enoughof what it's thirsty for!Show me the way to the ocean!Break these half-measures,these small containers.All this fantasyand grief.Let my house be drowned in the wavethat rose last night in the courtyardhidden in the center of my chest.Joseph fell like the moon into my well.The harvest I expected was washed away.But no matter.A fire has risen above my tombstone hat.I don't want learning, or dignity,or respectability.I want this music and this dawnand the warmth of your cheek against mine.The grief-armies assemble,but I'm not going with them.This is how it always iswhen I finish a poem.A great silence comes over me,and I wonder why I ever thoughtto use language.”