Like all the stories we hear about, my story was mine. My first words dripped from the inkwell of love onto the pages of life, so I wrote my first verses under the influence of love. I resorted to letters to save me from the addiction and intoxication of the heart, but I did not expect that day that the addiction to poetry is more severe and more violent. But the difference is that I did not resist it.

In my seventeenth year, the spark of the word was ignited and turned into a fire that devoured feelings greedily, translating everything that was going on in the thoughts of the soul. Since that time, my pen has never dried up, and I say, as it promised me, that it will never dry up as long as I am alive.