The night was calm but noise from the rustling...
It was not ordinary...

The emptiness that resided in my heart,
which held a big sign displaying...

I have much to write about,
if only you could help...

I would write of African
not as a continent...

A heart without emotional response to love is of a...

My feelings for her blazed,
slowly and slowly like first light on the land...

My walls, my insanity, my passion in the night...
That's why I don't go adoring curtains...

The shadow erases the tracks of its body
But the body can't erase the tracks of its shadow...

I'm a hard art.
Paint of many faces...

In the roof of the word
several loves are playing...

Forms are born of an open hand.
But there is one that is born of the closed hand...

It is late,
too late for me to close my eyes and sleep...