in your first life, you are a human, and express yourself
in your second life, you are a dog, only able to bark
in your third life, you are a tree, existing in silence
the nirvana will be your salvation: god-approved nothingness

humans can not imagine such a state, we only imagine the netherworld:
heaven and hell are places of gates, fire, lights, gardens and trees
so, does the afterlife take place on earth? what is the case?
do the dead, invisibly, populate the earth like in "the sixth sense"?

a famous playwright once stated that the dead dwell behind curtains
but they don't do so, in reality, they flow through our souls
like rivers through a channel, our souls are tools for ancestors
we do not feel them but they sense us strongly, they scent us

souls governed all human acts that were ever commited
souls govern all human acts that are being commited right now
souls govern all human acts that will be commited
a soul's texture is invisible, yet it weighs precisely 21 grams

everything i wrote about the afterlife and the soul may be wrong
i am as human as you, reflecting and presuming; my hands are tied
i would like to be a tv-preacher but i am not addicted to the dollar
god-channels are flodded by donation banners; humans buy certainty

this certainty, though, only lasts until our final breath: then we will know
then we will really know but we can't tell anyone; and that's our torture
i appreciate life but there are things we will never figure out while living
ludicrous uncertainty is drifting through my mind: the end of the dream

you have to be with me, naked
listen to your heart and undress
forget about your heavy stress...









it is just us: my huge and thick lust
your greedy mouth, everything what
we came here for; let's f''k away all of the bore

time was talking to me in a bubble of dreams
asked me if i was ready for a new experience
since time doesn't speak to you normally, i stuttered:
ye-yes, i'm ready, bu-but where will it take me?

well, young man, time said, it will take you to
a country that has never been discovered
this country is made of islands, thousands of them
nobody lives there, except orange birds and fish

but forget all the islands, they are lifeless, excluding one:
home to a man who is called golem the violinist
he consists of letters and is mute, he can not speak a word
how will i talk to golem then? i asked inquisitively

time didn't answer my question; it just smiled gently
i blinked and afterwards, i arrived on the island
swarms of orange birds were roaming the air
silver waves were surging against my naked feet

was i really dreaming? i pinched myself and it hurt
i was not dreaming because i could feel the pain
suddenly, i could hear a violin, slowly played
i turned around and saw golem, his eyes closed

golem was huge, athletic and coated in tattoos
the entire body was covered with the alphabet
golem's head was nodding to the melody of the music
puzzled, i asked him which song he was performing

he didn't answer; i had forgotten that he was mute
i asked again, he put the violin aside, devoted mien
golem raised his index finger and placed it on a letter
it was an "s", curiously, i followed his finger, as he continued

i finally read the words "sunshine adagio in d minor"
but at this stage of my life, i was just listening, passively
today, i depend on music to write, on orchestral sounds
"sunshine adagio in d minor" was played by the golem

he presented me the grace and strength of the violin
i could never visit this island again; never in my life
golem enchanted me so heavily, my memory is erased
i can't remember the way to his island anymore

it is not on any map, nowhere, but i kept something:
golem introduced me to breathtaking music, heaven yeah!
and the violin has been inspiring me since then
sunshine, adagio in d minor: i do admire you, song

i thank you golem for your gift and for your time
maybe you'll read this one day and tell me the way back
back to your island, back to the birthplace of muse
i love you brother, you are like kin, all yours, mikey

faithful eyes are restlessly observing the luminous night
an angeldog is sitting on the debris of a former court house
its silky fur is glowing while it is singing a song of the ancient
long mother tongues are licking up all of the words, greedily

the dog's night is a creature and it is alive, serious and cheerful
nobody will be able to spot it with the glimpse of humans
dogs can easily scent its traces, like foul fruits, grasping
animals can not talk but they sense way more than any human

science, arts, music are simply distractions from our inabilities
we have to assure us daily that we have a selective soul
that we observe and recognize the existing to recreate it
goosebumps are a replacement for our lack of scent

poems come, artists go, dogs are better off in silence
a dog's barking is nothing else but a distraction for us
we think we control pets, they know us better than we do
the dog's night is dark by now, asleep with one eye opened

some birds recently died of a smog overdose
this is not a big deal but activists are raging
last night they destroyed the lion's cage in the zoo
the lions ate all of them but they died with a certainty:

"we stood against the psychological torture of animals"
when the activists took their last breath, fulfilled
as their arms and legs were bitten off, they sobbed,
deeply concerned if the lions could digest human flesh

unselfish souls, good-hearted people; their families miss them
now they are waiting in front of netherworld's entrance
memories are rolling over their retinals, they are scared
fear is flickering, the activists are looking at gigantic doors

did they really do the right thing? dying as early?
when things have become unchangeable, doubt is arising
doubting is one of the cruelest acts of thinking and feeling
doubting leads to an idealization of the self; mirror-addiction

to kiss a shark is dangerous but some doubts will **** you
we may think that we control them – they dominate us
the mobiles of the activists are switched off
relatives and partners are trying to reach them

zoo visitors hear a ringtone coming from the lions
later on, the zookeeper finds an iphone in their feces
but the activists are fine, they died for a purpose
their funerals will be events of glorification

nobody will speak badly about them; nobody will criticize anything
they left babies, toddlers, wives, husbands and relatives behind
but they died for a purpose; they really did and that's what counts
it's over: stars are vomiting, the cemetery god is reading epitaphs

mirrors are used to tell you the truth within dreams
their memory goes further back than a day's length
you, the human, are dreaming of eden, an undiscovered maze
the night restlessly sells off her estranged gaze

shadows are flowing through your spinning mind
you see a child, contemplatively engaged in a game
not willing to follow any caring orders; you are glowing
as you are trying to hide yourself under a blanket of knowing

future has decayed, you have to blink, you have to smile
a century's crippled hands are grabbing at your truncated tongue
not even words, terms, speech and language remain
while rain is dripping from leaves, leaving its stain

asleep, you taste the bitter broth of your dream
the gods of the woods are coming for you, in amusement
the dog of voices is barking at his shadow; you are burping
while you hear the muzzle of your dream delightfully slurping

a golden stage of holy voices
hide us all from  the rain
a pastor, fulfilled by the holy spirit
today we are forgiven, forgiven

a young male in the audience, dancing
god is mighty, god is mighty, god is mighty
a sturdy background singer, grateful
today we are forgiven, forgiven

our god is awesome and he will be
our god is awesome and he will be
walls, decorated with kindness
today we are forgiven, forgiven

love is in the air like lights, lights
love is in the air like lights, lights
a pastor, fulfilled by the holy spirit
today we are forgiven, forgiven