God of medicine
Have mercy on him,
Uproot this feeling
That dwells within.

Give him your healing blood
So he could sleep like a log,
Secure him dreamless night
By thy single sweetened drop.

Unsatisfied remains his love
That touches like bitter breeze
The tender spots in his heart
And cleaves his mind apart.

Be like a rose, or be like a sword,
Calm him down with your word,
Give him just a shadow of hope,
Or help to tie a noose on his rope.

God of medicine
Have some mercy on him.
Take the silent pain he feels within
Or let his tired eyes grow dim.

Breathless, the late dawn
Touches the stillness of windowpanes,
While cat lies, gently resting on the lawn.
The leaf withered, floats in shallow pond to die.
Herds of orange clouds spread
Their dreamy fingers across the sky.

Everything was as it should have been.
You were here (then and now) with me.
And then, the breathless day was suddenly set
And about to finish its perpetual journey.

Now, the footfalls echo through the empty apartment,
Playing the fake tune of here and always.
What was once young at bloom now lies
Trampled by the time hurried in its eternal chase.

Sitting at this limbo between summer and winter,
The crossroads of midnight and noon,
I behold the sky full of sun turn grey-
The silent reproach below the pale moon.

Then and there, the tempest, resource deified,
Attacks my solitude- and blows away the crust
That once, I think, beat as my heart,
Blows away the memories woven with rust,
And finally is breathless at dawn,
Watching as we slowly turn into dust.

The land of Canaan lays covered in blood
Which mingles with sand and yellow dust;
A solemn initiation of a continuing life.
The Temple has long fallen and its ruins
Are much older than the silent millennia.

From east to west, from north to south,
Wandering feet make themselves known
In the sand, just for a while until the wind
In his great wisdom covers them away
And hides them from the millennia.

And ye, gentiles, be not harsh with the souls
Of the buried, for they knew not their mistakes.
Cherish every rock and tree giving you shelter
From the sun for which there is no cure
As it shines unto you for the millennia.

When the land of Canaan shall be finally yours,
When the waters start pouring from rich oases,
Will you finally be content and self-satisfied?
Will your pride allow your heart the freedom
It has sought for the empty millennia?

With the altar and the Temple rebuilt,
Will your ***** hands throw down the trowel?
Will you lay down your sword and face
The wretched generation of enlightened men
That has grown out of the motionless millennia?

And when the King shall call onto thee again,
Will you come at the error of your ways?
Will you bow, will you utter a frightened grace?
Will you show him the haggard face
You’ve tried to hide from his eyes for millennia?

Or will the broken city of Jerusalem,
Will it always be broken?

Long has the wait been
And patiently I have waited.
Underneath the days a silent parody;
A thought of a thought of a man
To whom nothing ever happens.
Imprudent seasons gently rolling by.
Always growing, always falling is the willow´s leaf.
Hazy steps in the freshly fallen snow
Are trying to rook one to the endless empty sleep.

The hour is now rich for the reaping
Of the Inherited legacy of stillness.
And time, always time,
Yet ahead still walking or limping
Gives a deeper meaning for a while,
The eyes to see a lover´s smile,
And then slowly with the sardonic immunity
Sacrifices everything you have ever loved
To the single eternity.

I was with you that autumn day
when a performing mime accidentally
laughed loudly on a whim
and the disgruntled crowd threw him
and his little french hat overboard
into the silent river.

As he landed and was swallowed
by the hungry cold hands of disinterest
a flock of birds flew up into the darkening sky
bewildered by the ridiculous voices
wishing him to drown with his muddy painted face
and be taken to the black sea.

The night had just begun but people
had already decided on their heavenly fate
soon forgetting the poor wretched mime rising
from the bank; the river being within him as a great
past god inflaming his anger franticly over sorrow
denying him thus the privilege of peace.

There and then, I looked into your eye
mirroring the red moon between grey clouds
the waters beneath it and the thousand lights
of the city we once believed divine
though its greatest days had gone buried
under the mountains of cheap laughter and gore.

And when the single tear appeared on your cheek
I knew that the time of play and games was over;
doomed and ******, the riches of body and soul
had fallen from the pedestal of adoration, desire
reluctantly ended in detachment whilst the mime
half dry already stands prepared for the next woeful show.

(The only wisdom we can hope to acquire
Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.
- T.S. Eliot)

Uprooted
Like this beech tree;
Weary of the deceptive world
Of unceasing wind tearing its leaves,
Dry sun shamelessly burning its dreams
Of a fair new world just begun
And of Heavy flooding rains
Offering only deceit of deceit of hope;
Aimless is the time of birth and death -
And so am I.

And yet even when lying on the earth
seemingly mortally wounded,
A new bud secretly and silently grows
Humbly receiving a little piece from all -
And so am I.

I met a butterfly
On my way to Jötunheim
With a hammer in my heart

I met a butterfly
With luminous wings
That stopped for a while
As in the deepest time of night
When even birds are quiet
While whisper lets out a lie

It descended upon my horse’s ear
Blue and green on chestnut hair
Our pace was unrelenting
And also weary from the err
Souls heavily pushing
this meaty cart
I met a butterfly
On my way to Jötunheim
With a hammer in my heart

What is to think of this life
Caught between the night and day
When even seer sees only partly and
Many times different as same
A Hero famous for a thousand years
Or a beggar without a name
From our souls blooms
Like a flower a poisonous dart
I met a butterfly
On my way to Jötunheim
With a hammer in my heart

And yet I think that in a way
‘Tis more real than these hands
That clutch the oars

The moment ended
And the wings spread to depart
To continue in their blind
Pursuit to cheat the death
This delicate unlearnable art
I met a butterfly
On my way to Jötunheim
With a hammer in my heart