We worry about swords
guns and of mass destruction weapons...

My mother’s face
announcing my father’s death...

After sixty years of missing my home town
I returned there...

On the hills of long time ago
we have now buildings and houses...

Have the living
already died...

The lake of your smile
reflects slices of white peaks...

It’s night
If I look at my day...

The train goes forward
cities grow larger and...

Like a grain of sand
I’m looking at these mountains...

Has anyone seen make up without a face
upon a faded body...

When the countryside is barren
for the days no one knows we lived...

What is it that makes one feel
like wine exploding in a barrel...