I am like those SETI-scientists,
clinging on radiowaves;
noise-melodies from outer space,
questing after truth with huge telescopes
and scanning the visible light with satellites,
seeking desperately the limits of worlds apart,
searching for signs of intelligent life
in the desired-to-know universe.
Just to communicate with the extra-terrestrial;
to achieve certainty: there is someone out there,
someone, who is different, yet alike,
who is able to speak my thoughts
without knowing my language,
who still can easily translate my feelings
into the secret programcode of the universe.
An astral-traveler,
who can tame the waves of gravity,
someone, who is faster than the speed of light
and could eat the distance between us.
To be my interstellar compass;
my one and true guidance,
to help me explore this unfathomed life.
Someone, as David Bowie sang at once,
who is able to believe the strangest things,
who is able to love the alien.

This heart of mine is
a wanderer nomad and
now it is on the

loose. It became wroth
and restless for the mind is
bowed down; the shameful

armistice is now
signed. Because it is still
aware that if it

gave upon on you,
if it ceased to love, it would
cease to beat eternally.

Under the vault of snow-white
heaven, beneath the charm of
midwinter I picture the
home of mine in you.

The ever-haunting
smile of yours cuts me like the
sharpest of all knives.

Once I was a preserver
a wayfarer
a maker
but later
you turned me into a useless stargazer
by losing the will of being your tracer
I ceded my kismet on becoming an engraver

I grew to be nothing but a moveless eraser

Already accepted that he is the one of his kind;
he is never going to happen again, though,
he has shed and shared too much blood
for keeping himself alive -
always on the still
I am the cosmonaut of his existence;
the explorer of his oneness
for he is the macrocosm of my blooming.

Breaking the habit by breaking the heart
inch by inch, gaze by gaze: it's
a dark matter of time.

I wish to return
aboveground to take a walk
with the wind and shake
off this stupored, spirit-mood;
this deranged daze by your side.

Tell me, my moondark one, how come that
our journey remained untraveled;
from mirror to mirror into eternity
our passages were left uncrossed?
For the mirage of shedding a light,
we rather chose to immerse into the outer world
than become one with each other's.
Since when were we this hollow
turning into shallow ones,
who are unfaithful to their dreams?
Tell me, that how come
that the snake is already bitting his own tail
for the circle is full now,
and I still wish to tell our never-ending story?

In this my time of need,
I dream about
those Harmattan-breezed stories
you left unsaid on my skin,
for you were so dreaded by the thought
that your light may come alive from its slumber,
that I may reflect and echo you.

And I am whispering now,
repeating the song of your beating heart,
before you could also withdraw your touch,
and say: rather stay blind than to face with these all.

I unbound my hair...

A rumor has it
there is an open season
for breaking hearts, but
I have never thought that you
are going to shatter mine.

Passing through the jade
green understory of yours,
discovering your

forest-like body;
betwixt and between at last
I found my abditory.

Secret.
Lips sealed.
Necking stirringly - hush.
Shadow of a doubt.
Decoy.

In this downpour of
nil a blinding fog descended
and a venomous,

absinthe-mindedness wrapped all
over me, thus all of my
senses were out of order.

Today a little
pale-veil vein was discovered
under your skin right
there, below your right
eye. I am aware that
it was a tough day
and you're so exhausted
too, but I just marveled it,
because I've never
seen it before; it
never revealed itself to
me, yet somehow, in
a strange way it made
me happy for I had no
doubt that you are real.

I want to exile
from this still-life (though it is
still life), but I found

so hard even my
own motion within those stiff,
immobile patterns

of living... How knows?
Maybe there is no rise and
fall, but the gaudy

illusion; the cold,
inevitable stasis
of dried paint spots on a wall.

Someone broke the sun today;
it is raining flowers all over,
creating a liquid silence
by giving life to our constellation
of their falling petals.

...and the angel covered his
eyes with another world's light
for her penumbra was not
enough to perceive.

It's happened on your last watch.
In a lonesome salvage yard,
she - who was raised by machines - like
an electric shadow on a hopeless, desolate street in Berlin,
was risen by
the taste of your swallowed tears as bitter as gall,
the music of your careless heartbeats singing
its own song of rust,
exhaling radiowaves for picture and thus
bring you into life again
by reshaping the man - from the sounds of wind chimes
and piano accords - who you were
more than half a life ago.

You are blood from my
blood, word from my word; my own
voicething creature-kin.

There must be an algorithm for the Fate
in the A.I. of existence
and I am aware that
you want to encrypt it.
I wish I could have all the answers
you desperately seek.
But I don't.
Yet still, I can be your skeleton key
in this closed space
to open the doors
toward the unbeknown.
Because for learning by doing -
as Aristotle said at once -,
we could read ourselves into
the rules of staying
beneath the wrinkles of Time.

We can be constant variables.

I've tried to avoid you last night, looking for a silver lining, but all I could find was just a neon moon and under its halo, your shadow crossed mine again.

They sang their song in unison, a lullaby of darkness, and all I wanted was to leave, for I have already prayed enough to the mirror version of you hoping, he might have mercy on me.

But then and there, under the neon moon, its light turned against, and all at once, I wanted to stay; not just fall in love again but to sojourn on the rise.

Entombing the scream
into my body to hide
the banshee
for the sake of guarding
this terra incognita;
the peacetime of ours.

Estranged from the familiar
you made me by unmaking me
for getting tired too soon
of fostering
like I was
an unwanted child,
yet still you are the one
who have become unparented;
an Orphan King
in a Borrowed Land,
always
halfway to a
hallway of
all ways.

Sum this all up: mind
zeroing in on that you
can't be zeroed out.

And I've become the
victim of my own hybris.
I was ...careless and

proud when I thought you
are harmless to me. Now I
am trying to

bribe Fate itself to
give me back my wasted years;
the years I wasted on you.

Craving to harvest
the dew-like moments from your
skin; my endbegin.

...and you came to answer the door like you
did with my prayers; your replies
sought the questions of mine.

Imprison the blaze
for unlearning
the ghost of our light
to bow down before
an interim simulacrum
of the sham.

You said,
that the colours are so hurting;
that this soundless shapelessness
comforts you.

I cannot extricate you.
Cannot unleash
from the unbreachable
for I learned that
this stasis is your only home.

Back in those days, who
broke your wings that now on, though
you are healed at last,
you cannot even bear the
sweet thought of flying itself?

Kissing your cheek
time after time
then at once, you asked:
"What are you doing?"
"Counting my blessings," I said
"I was never good with numbers, though,
so I start it all over and over again
and imagine Sisyphus happy."

Afterlife.
Naked, true.
We are reborn
By disrobing the disguise.
Unmasked.

whispering city
blaring-chattering fountains
weeping train-tunnels
in prayer, I am taking
the one - thy name: my silence

From the sea of smoking souls
I am parted to emerge,
imbuing by aether silk;
the space of your sound.

In this midheaven of demigods.
beneath this semidetached shelter
of semi-manufactured souls.
apart from the half-hearted's dimidiate
the bright-half departs
for dovetailing all of our halves.

take a train
seek a station
sense the location
nevermind the destination

thus the landscape is just a mindscape;
a vastness of space, a great unknown
we built for each other,
a wall of falling - a distance of stasis.

So, I just sit here,
waiting for you to defeat
the oblivion

and again, at last,
remember where you left me  
like a forgotten

toy from your childhood,
and like every toy I too
need magic to come

alive again; that
kind of magic from the sweet
little human of

mine, the one who, at
once, placed an incandescent
piece from his soul into me.

We are heading toward the unknown morning,
ready to face with the heavy light of the world
only this livid silence embraces us now,
yet still, I do not fear to take one step forward
for I know there's no future forsaken
for I know I am going to happen by you.

Your heart is my only window to the world.
So please, keep it clear for the view.

Still
Here in
Atlantis,
Mother of pearls.
Iridescent; being pregnant with light,
A world rebuilding - waiting to hold you.
Resurfacing:
Sea the sun,
Finding
Home.

There's no such blade
that would be sharp enough
to slice one of one's shadow.
I grab and tear mine away, though,
kneading and reshaping it
like wet clay soil
in hope, maybe
its blackness won't scare you.

From the shapeless mass,
I yearn to give a familiar form
so you may recognize me
from even taking a glimpse at it.
You know, my shadow never lies,
always telling the truth
showing its real face,
even when mine betrays.

I've seen the stones;
the sphinx's heart,
the tears of the sand,
the touch of the wind,
the taste of the silence,
the plenty of the vastness
- all, though, existed
without rhyme or reason
for as the shimmering firmament itself,
you towered over me.

Embraced by this shape-shifter word,
to relive the birth of sounds,
your voice is the ever anacrusis.

Blind date with a blind map,
oh Lord, where are my fingers running?
Are they again seeking out your heart?
For your body remains invisible
on uncharted lands
as your absence taking shape.
Godspeed with the Hand of Fate,
while mapping on the surface of this paper
for guiding me safe waters,
watching out the tides
while leaving nowhere
I reach you ashore,
"Geborgenheit" is the word;
safe & sound.

i am no music
but noise for these ears of yours
may have some quiet

loss of appetite
this wine in my mouth tastes salty
a grape of your tears

Skyscraper,
skyshaper,
skysharper...

Don't mind the fall of ascending
for its gravity does the work for you.

A passageway to this wind tunnel is open now,
yet the recoil is still undone.

Leave the rest to the high-rise end,
and embrace your bound to the above.

Only imagined the moving,
dreamed the breathing
for I was walled up alive
beneath the body of life,
its womb was my tomb,
its stasis was my shroud,
yet, my immurement
is come to an end now, though,
for I can witness the rising
of the dark harvest moons
under your eyes.

"How long is now?" - you
asked and I was aware that
there is no after

after this we have
already reached the end; the
end of our very

beginning. So, it
is on us now whether to
dare to step one step

further into the
livelong midst ere we happen
to lose the track of our time.

Once more
Came to see the light of the night
then just to
melt in the shadow of the dayshine.
The summer moves on
and so do you
leaving behind nothing
but the event horizon.
No light can escape from here
remaining captured,
like a caged skylark,
being lingering frozen
like the vacuity of space;

incarcerated by the radiation of dying stars
out of the lightning source of my true glare.