In a haiku poem, we come across transpositions and inversions of common, everyday expressions. The pearls of that poetry are not only sparks in the darkness of life, but also a cognitive breakthrough into its pores.
He was left alone in the world when playful hunters, hunting pheasants, shot from a double barrel and hit his parents, who were forced by the dogs to fly from the bushes where they were pecking at snails.
Through a series of connected episodes, the author describes his childhood and youth in the village, interweaving personal experiences with the historical and social context of the time.
The following pages are torn from the book of the people's revolution. From the book? No, from the womb, from the veins, from the bloodstream, from the roots of life. They are the history of love.