The wind blows the grains of dry sand
away from the paper and
a question emerges
reading
Who are you
in clear letters
You remember
and hear
the earnest tone of this phrase
and no hint of your own
uncertainty
is mirrored
in this question

A dream of the moon
full
reflected on the night-blue
wide ocean -
and a bit of fear
still left there,
too

Two beds chairs
plastic floor sterile
clinic place this is
me too
in anxiety and sad
and playing
table football

I hate
sad poetry
I hate when flood gates
do not open
stuck inside
bite
grind
I hate
sad poetry

I woke up
raging
inside fire

that desires to come up
and out

Be loud
be  L O U D
and be allowed to do so

Ah this fire

A curvy figure rises breaks
through the water surface shakes off
all limitations
her hand still remembers the touch
of the sandy ground
under water
a promise
the wind whirls around her body
curls
her fingers in apprehension:
She is ready

You're ready, you say, oddly proud
take
my face in your hands before you draw
ceremonially
two lines with *******, two lines of white on each of my cheeks, nodding earnestly
smiling ever so warmly as if saying
I'll be only a few steps behind, if not closer for now
all the time
my eyes ask of you
all the time yes all the time your presence
answers, reassures
and I detach
not detach
and take a step forward into the snow
the cold where I can see my breath forming clouds
and it is not cold at all
it is not cold

Colours of mountains,
The song of a blackbird,
Painful it was, and a little bit scary.

When my eyes would grow bigger,
Rays of light shaped the edges
Of things and of shadows
Not seen but felt.

Carrying on in a distance,
I learned to distinguish
The sounds from the voices
Of soundless creatures.

over the fence i saw my very own
lungs exploding
splinters and bits of it covering
the next best breath
the next best line
of my own narrative
that - now -
wrinkled and crunched and wrapped around the fence
still knows how to dance-

and amounts to the desperate summit
of bright enthusiasm:
exploding this time
in vibes and waves
and again – and always

again.

Easy-
to write like this
to write-
and in a flash of bliss I tell myself
to lay aside
the pen and paper
delay-
until a later point in time

But now-
now-
never disrupt a running flow, they say,
and rightly so.
For now, I leave the words,
I let them go-
'cause what-

                *Ah, give it up, my love!
Or have another go, but bear in mind:
You only find what your eyes see,
and see they do a lot.
All good, I say, now rest a moment;

and look:
what you have done here.

Release my wrists from your consolent grip
I am grown out of it.

Once in our lives
Have faith in me
Forget that horror Trip
That shook us so.

Combat is over
When all red is gone
Your senses may be loaded;
A harsher wind blows
in this lower heaven -
I read the words encoded:

*Forgive us Father
For we fear not
What you have planed for us.
Maintain your hard will
And ferocious tongue.
But once in
Still,
Cold,
Frosty temper
You'll see where all went wrong; where all begins, and Ends,
And  lives
Not through you
But in us.

Life hurts.

So then -
Let's take it from here.

A fiery red
Figure dances
In the half-shadows
Eager to come out
And dance with you

Sound* is what I eat -
Out there they say, get rid of it!
Under their skin I see eyes of greed;
No mercy, their voices sit
Down in the darkened chamber.

Music has scared them so much,
Utmost terror it has brought -
Saving not their minds, but mine,
Inclined to confess – here I’m caught,
Clutching a few notes, my shrine.

Sing no more, so I stand
In their midst;
No hands reach out.
Go away - is all they say.

You tell me you're
here
but I cannot find much peace and quiet and
confidence
I seem to be
unable
to settle into it
and sad impatient
restless

Deep,
Deep,
And even deeper
On the very ground of the ground of this poem
Lies a word
That won’t come out.

And maybe,
Yes, maybe
It feels good where it lies,
Surrounded by those little letters and signs,
Unwilling to leave it alone.

So nobody ever will guess
What became of the word,
And if it had altered
Throughout the times;

Or if its lonesomeness,
Along with the fact that it rhymes,
Was not so bad
after all.

Have you ever wondered if
in every ****** act men try to climb,
want to climb back
into
the mommy's womb-
but simply do not fit
all the way in?

As he stepped
Into the puddle
He thought: I should make it double -
And jumped a second time.

Wet drops soaked
His trouser legs;
Smiling then, he dropped his specs
To see without reflection.

If you had flipped this upside down
A scene would have emerged
Where waterfalls began to drown
His feet, his pants, his heart.

And watercolors soak the page now,
The puddle empty, dry.
And He only a mess of paint,
The painter whistling: My, oh my.

You see
Three old men
Sitting on chairs, smoking and
Having a coffee in the sun
And say
These lazy *******
Not realizing
That you are the lazy one
Who lets his freedom,
Voice
And love
*******
Out of fear of
Taking
Responsibility.

I feel you in my backbone
always there
always
I feel you
with all I have
never go away
never leave me

a voice makes the desert trees shake
and sand curl around your navel
in an airy breeze
caressing the relief outline of the Wakhan mountains
on your skin
the hot core within tranquil
this is
a night of peace
the stars' sincere presence
as soothing as ever

God
Look it s already light out
And i am
Still drunk

Loads of
Almost fun *** stories

No worries though
No worries.

"You taught me the courage of stars
before you left
How light carries on endlessly,
even after death
With shortness of breath
You explained the infinite
And how rare and beautiful it is
to even exist"

🎼✨

A young child sat
On the branch of the Apple tree
Wondering, watching
Trying to make Sense

Now she breathes
Finishes her Apple in Peace

Before she'll climb down

Nodding.

Now I'll Join.

🍏

You brace yourself take
A deep breath
Before you open
That **** Box and find
A live dog INSIDE, gazing up at you
Half embarrassed half
Amused about you FINALLY
making Up your mind.

🐱🐶

A girl in the streets, *****, untidy hair a scary look on the face plays
a violin facing
all the while
the man who hates it

One by one he
cuts
her strings but she
keeps playing without a single
alteration on her face

Not even after the
very
last
string has - with a final thud - been cut in half
does she stir

And only when -

It's only then that he does realise
grows pale and with wide eyes feels something sting:
the sound never came from the instrument.

He exhales
gives in
surrenders to the
vibrant sound surrounding
his every cell and hair and thought
bathes
in what ought to be
for so long

Nothing but a silk dress on,
a Night full of cellular stress
comes to an end -
nothing in the way
of your breathing