“At times being oblivious keeps me more alive in this chaos.”

You are like the first rays of the sun – a whole new world.

Memory is not your enemy. The real enemy is your desires, chasing your past lamenting over and over.

Seek you in me in your darkest times.

Sky; a map of constellations intertwined with dark and light.

Horizon; where lovers entwine like they did alluring, spellbinding – what an affinity they have.

You gave me the courage to rise but my darling robin why did you fly leaving me behind these four walls all alone?

To those who say self-love is selfish, you are either hunted or haunted.

Poetry is a feeling, a feeling of healing.

It’s unconditional; their chemistry is unconditional – forever.

Poetry is a pleasure to your pressure.

I never understood flowers until I met you.

Fall is the rise.

You hit the soft spot of me making my heart skip a beat.

You are my tamed fire in the wind.

Poetry is a home, a home with joy.

No pain no worries only the beating of our hearts.

I had reasoned this out in my mind; there was on of two things I had a right to, liberty or death; if I could not have one, I would have the other; for no man should take me alive.

I am happy to be alive, as long as I can paint.

I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.

I would like to make a film to tell children “it’s good to be alive”.

The world is more alive at night; it’s like God isn’t looking.

I will not say that your mulberry trees are dead; but I am afraid they’re not alive.

Let the dead bury the dead, but while I’m alive, I must live and be happy.

If I didn’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive.