A painting hangs on an ivy wall Nestled in the emerald moss The eyes declare a truce of trust And then it draws me far away Where deep in the desert twilight Sand melts in pools of the sky When darkness lays her crimson cloak Your lamps will call me home

A clouded dream on an earthly night Hangs upon the crescent moon A voiceless song in an ageless light Sings at the coming dawn Birds in flight are calling ther…

And so it's there my homage's due Clutched by the still of the night And now I feel you move Every breath is full So it's there my homage's due Clutched by the…

As you turned to go I heard you call my name, You were like a bird in a cage spreading its wings to fly 'The old ways are lost,' you sang as you flew And I won…

You advise me, too, not to stray far from the ground of experience, as I become weak when I enter the region of fiction; and you say, 'real experience is peren…

'I would take a twirling baton and use it as my 'icaphone' - that's what I called it - and lay a towel on the floor as my stage.'

Do you realize that people don't know how to read Kafka simply because they want to decipher him? Instead of letting themselves be carried away by his unequale…