"What is man’s life but love, love of self; Man is dust, dust as his passion, dust as the beloved.Death, it is your great act of piety for man – You take him to your house or he’d be left to himself.Death is a covenant between the lover and the beloved; Death is a secret wedlock between being and non-being.Death harbors the hidden port of life’s ocean; Death is helpless and a vision of beauty to itself.Death is the only witness of my life and your grace, And O strange lord, of night and the crescent."

"But death blinds you, unaware of man’s fall – An autumn that steals the flower from the flower peddler.Death is testimony of god’s love and mercy for man – A promise made between autumn and spring."

"Death, go somewhere, get lost! I’m not done as yet – Joy still flows from the amphora of colors into my cupped hands."

"Manhood stands tall and high, and becomes madness; The self takes leave of being and becomes ecstasy. When iron sated with blood embraces love, It turns into a bewildered sitar string. When time robs man of love and the loved one, He sees the beloved’s glory and his own. How man sprouts when he sits down in dust!"