You do not see the Absolute.
To see...

You—
who, in all this noise...

I shun all stain, all mark of mortal dust,
Except the trace that bears the sign of you...

They barked, “You do not fit, don’t tag along!
Be gone, you beast! Your kind is not our kin...

Veil lifts in twilight—
gypsys dance reddening in...

Feel the losers’ pain,
it will soften your own loss...

A tear has an existence of its own—
salted from deep seas...

What wounds you inflict upon this heart—
yet you do not know...

Have you ever drunk
from the goblet of yourself...

An Old Poem
After forty-eight hours...

If loneliness were a flower,
it would bloom—only to fade...

You, only you
not others...