From the night, his solitude, the poet finds day and starts a diary that is lethal to the inert. The dark landscape yields a dialogue.

A poet clings to his own tradition and avoids internationalism.

The poet does not fear death, not because he believes in the fantasy of heroes, but because death constantly visits his thoughts and is thus an image of a serene dialogue.

The poet's spoken discourse often depends on a mystique, on the spiritual freedom that finds itself enslaved on earth.

Poetry is also the physical self of the poet, and it is impossible to separate the poet from his poetry.

According to them, the poet is confined to the provinces with his mouth broken on his own syllabic trapeze.