Two drops of rain

I raised my face, two drops of rain

fell onto my head and softened my hair.

What had I come for? Why was I here?

Couldn’t remember, just one thing I knew:

disrobing my coat was what I had to do.

Aurora burnt a poem

This morning
aurora burnt a poem
into my window sill.
It spoke about home,
I listened half asleep.
My heart stood quiet, still.

In all these subtle more intimate depths

Isn’t it

when ancient walls breathe 
unseeingly

a tree’s branch scratches a window pane’s glass

a bow resonates a violin’s well

a bird sings about his beloved one’s death

we might be out

shopping

picking up parcels

and overhear what barely exists

in all these subtle more intimate depths?

Mad hearts

if I ever
had wings, they would dive

in deep waters of turmoil

with only one stroke
they would stir up
mad hearts

beating 
tsunami frictions

of walls never grouted

and unsink lost castles

no sea could undrown

Where sand turns to thorns

Heavy boots

Tie us to ground

Our wings want to fly

Can we walk along shores

Where sand turns to thorns

Scratching bare feet to blood
Till we raise and glide 

Into unfathomed sky
Can we?

The scent of warm hands

You've been missing for a decade now

I am thankful we shared two

The scent of warm hands

Around mine so small and cold

The leaves we raked when harvesting your gardens

The moon we guessed in stormy thundered nights

The silence in me when you hold me close

The smile in your eyes when I got into sight

One day you lost your memory

The other day your mind

Got confused and blind

And scared by its brutality

The next you lost your life

And all your warmth dissolved

In tears of my anxiety

Still carry them for you

Remembering we shared

Should we have been closer

Are we closer now

In the eyes of the deer

That night

The cup was the last cup

In a shelf of ebony

A deer on the rim

Someone put it there

I never wondered why

I poured in some water

Slowly to not wet its fur

I led the cup to my mouth

With my lips touching fine porcelain

As if they were kissing winter

The water turned to snow and I 
Melted in the eyes of the deer

The stars in decrescendo

12th October

Burning leaves are falling

Into worn out lands

Forsaken crowns and crosses

The stars in decrescendo

A mad man picks a stone

And throws it at the moon

I’m thinking about Persia

She lashes ancient poems

I’m thinking about Europa

She hustles off a cliff

What about America

She tortures obese bodies

I’m thinking about India

She chokes from corrupt breath

I’m thinking about Africa

Her children carry weapons

I’m thinking about Asia

Her children have no names

I turn towards South America

She burns down fairy lands

And island ark Australia

Turns rivers into sands

Once upon a time

There was a nameless child

Crossing many lands

In a woolen robe
One night it picked a stone

Aiming for the moon

It hit an old tree’s crown

And golden leaves were falling

Into small warm hands

Once upon a time

There was a nameless boy

Crossing many lands

On a silk paved road
One night he picked a stone

And built a golden temple

With his graceful hands

Once upon a time

There was a nameless man

In a promised land

With giant golden castles

One night he picked a stone

And shattered crystal towers

With his greedy hands

Once upon a time

There was a mad old man

In a hideous land

With burning trees and rivers

One night he picks a stone
And throws it at the moon
With his worn out hands

He hits an old tree’s crown

And burning leaves are falling

Into fading lands

Unresting

It's unresting, isn't it?

Realizing we will die.

Suddenly we're in a hurry.

One can find it in the eyes of one's beholder.

Die Brücke

Eine grüne Linie gerinnt

hinter Lidern, die Stirn

kühlt an erkaltetem Glas

Ein Vakuum drückt ins Holz

Ein Schatten auf der Brücke

Eine Narbe in der Beuge

Nicht weiter wichtig

Zwei küssten sich

auf meinem Haar

Was davon ist übrig?

Der Wolf ruft mich
in den Wald, wilde Tiere!
sagt man, sind ausgestorben

An Hunde glaube ich nicht ...

Ich liege auf der Brücke
den Blick in die Sterne und wünschte

ich wünschte nicht

Sand between toes.
Wind in the sails.
Sun in my hair.

A girl walked to a well to fetch some fresh cool water.

Longing is from a different fabric

when it is torn between picture and frame

Without contingence to merge one another

One would be empty and One go insane

A ring fell off my finger.
I thought I couldn’t live without it.

Little by little my hand starts to forget.

In an instance three days have passed. 
I tended to leap just three hours.

The world is speeding up, or is it slowing down.
It seems time is losing its sense of me.

On the bus I met this world traveler. 
He was prone to tell his adventures to every newcomer taking a seat close to his. 
The last couple of months he had been hopping from country to country and what drove him 
was seemingly the same reason making someone hop from bar to bar in a muggy Saturday night. 
Every moment I suspected him to draw a checklist out of his pocket.

Wood cracks near my feet

Our own pretty ways 
led me to a clearing 

Lazing between pine trees
I smile at the swing

You are the blood stream 
nurturing its string

I don't know how to say what I have to say.

Did ... you sleep okay?

I wandered through a land where cats lived in the streets. 
They looked quite rough and weather-beaten. 
Except for one, beautiful and sublime she was. 
Thinking about it now she must have been a king.