Fish will come with the current.

 ... - except you fish in a pond.

Till I fly and follow

Sitting in a grid of grass bedded between flowers

orchards and rivers, islands and oceans

in the far distance unfolding magic sands

Above all 

a forbearing moon and his harem of stars

They fill my heart with light

with storm they fill my wings

till I fly and follow 

thrusting birds 

I consider you in the sands 

drawing hasty patterns

Let’s rise tonight and touch the stars

arrange the template for your drawings

they belong to all of us

are meant to come, are meant to pass

fading with strong currents  

Between me and you

All your heart and liver

only an illusion resting beside me

The radiance of your eyes buried under rivers

I cannot tell apart, which of them weigh heavy

which of them weigh light, it’s all the same to you

Looking at your skin I see it’s been deprived

burnt with marks and scars of life’s insanity

I may not believe any word you whisper

I may not have faith in anything you do

Still I care and wished you were true
without longing for promises
just catching the moment, 
a glimpse of existence 
coming alive between me and you

Living with the absurdity of existence

If mankind is Sisyphus, one better finds a way that pushing the rock itself becomes a fulfilling task. A strive for revolt, freedom and passion accompanied by integrity and authenticity are life’s true pillars so that in moments of consciously walking downhill, one can look at absurdity with a smiling serenity. I guess there’s just no other way to live with the absurdity of existence than to passionately embrace it with a revolting strive for freedom and expressing life through art, humour and a sense of enacted solidarity for all living beings. Albert Camus has a point there and I completely agree.

Weißer Elephant

Das Auge dreht sich über neonbunten Buden

Duck dich, damit es dich nicht erkennt!

Der Lauf senkt sich auf Sterne und Puppen, ein Schuss

Schon gehört der Elephant dir, Großwildjäger

Er frisst am liebsten Kandiertes, trägt am Rüssel einen roten Ballon

Wär er nicht aus Watte, er könnte auch fliegen

Nähme dich mit in sein wildes Land

Zeigte dir die Steppen und Dünen

Ihm bleibt keine Wahl, er folgt in dein Haus
Die Ecke, die du ihm gönnst -
Bald vergessen wird er ewig dort liegen.