I believe in the power of poetry, which gives me reasons to look ahead and identify a glint of light.

Far away, our dreams have nothing to do with what we do. The wind carries the night, and passes on, aimless.

We suffer from an incurable malady: Hope.

And I say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.

A person can only be born in one place. However, he may die several times elsewhere: in the exiles and prisons, and in a homeland transformed by the occupation and oppression into a nightmare.