Every object, every being, is a wine-jar of delight. Be a connoisseur, taste with caution: any wine will make you drunk. Judge like a king, and choose the best, the ones unadulterated with fear of what folk say, or some contingent “duty” or “necessity.” Drink the wine that makes your soul float, moves you as a camel moves when it’s been untied, and is just ambling about – loafing, if you like.
The Tent Outside: the freezing desert night. Another night inside gets warmer, illuminating me. Though the earth be covered with impenetrable thorns In here there is a green and gentle meadow. When the continents are devastated cities, towns and everything between scorched and blackened the only news is future full of grief while inside me there is no news at all. This is our intimacy, my beloved friend*: anywhere you put your foot, feel me in the firmness under it. How is it, soul-mate, that I see your world and don’t see you ? Listen to the whispers inside poems, follow their intimate suggestions