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a second My hands are cold.    I’ve gone out into the street, I’ve settled the minor matter and returned home to take again my place at this

My Own Song I don’t want to be like you want me. I don’t want to be you like you want me. I don’t want to be like

    A night Scene A night scene is a grand work displayed in silence as dusk sets it makes its nest in the starry eyes when the

Photo Germain Droogenbroodt Tous les matins du monde . . . Tous les matins du monde sont sans retour. All the mornings of the world are without return

Drawing by Satish Gupta, India Words All round me are words, and words and words, They grow on me like leaves, they never Seem to stop their slow

                            Photo by Germain Droogenbroodt Geographies . . . as if love were a landscape —Ornella Mariani Let me move, push me, let me join far away

In the Summer Sparsely populated, the land. Despite huge fields and machines, The villages lie sleepy In boxwood gardens; rarely hit A stone’s thrown at the cats. In

           Painting by Natalia Fernández Díaz-Cabal Heterodoxies at the Aegean Sea II All these heroes have been reduced to ashes, to stones that no longer support the step-by-step

I PLUCKED THE ROSE When I plucked the rose, the fragrance and the thorns came with the blossom. I was in love with the fragrance and the thorns:

Geen verlangen om mijn mond te openen Geen verlangen om mijn mond te openen, waar moet ik van zingen. . . ?  Ik, die gehaat wordt door het