#1997 : Prada

You cannot be as you wish yourself You cannot give the poem life if life does not turn into a poem. And you cannot walk with your cheek in the cellar if the thinking is not other than the one who walks with you. It is not for you to converse with the sky alone if it does not speak to you and take you out of your loneliness. No, I will not be able to stop speaking in front of the temptation of the meaning, even if a verbal jolt hits the language. As for the impossible, except for the infinite spinning of the possible, a lunar moon that spurs gazes from the balcony, the ember of meanings burning under the ashes of metaphor, its painted heels set in lineage, the weddings of the soul that are dazzling with no visible, the eagerness of my life transcends the infinite. The impossible is that which is not impossible to the imagination, and the impossible is that which does not exceed the limits. What the impossible was impossible except in a language that transcends the meaning or gets stuck in the darkness of order where words and things are guarded, which breaks the rules and boils in the world and the meanings are the law of chaos.

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