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Poem	To transform a grimace into a sound Sounds impossible, yet it is possible To transform a vision into music, To go outside an enslaved personality, To become impersonal by transforming Into sand, into water, into light, To feel the air and breathe the air By becoming the air, become A bird, the first cell, the first man, Become a wandering comet, A dying star, a newborn cluster of stars And hear the melody of galaxies Love making of black stars, Sense the hellish or heavenly nature of quasars, Be in everything and come back To a miniscule particle of personality To find out how great all is.
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