In the house of judgment
Stands the statue of Libra
And there also stands
A man in a suit
and polished black shoes

Beside him,
A black man in his thirties
With clothes wrinkled and unclean,
but pure within.

The hammer strikes;
The battle begins
To defend a black man
confined by society’s chains
because of white’s vain

The hammer strikes;
The battle ends
All pieces of truth,
shred by lies
and poisoned with vice

Beside him,
The black man is shackled
with chains on his hands
and chains on his life.

In the house of judgment
Stands the statue of Libra
with a balance on its hand, balanced.
But when the man in the suit
looks once again

                                                        The balance tilts more
                                                                                          to the other side.

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.

My hair, soft as silk, but falls like rain from the sky.
Oh! How I wish my hair had roots like a tree!
For a restore, I'll fill it with honey.
But when honey doesn't work and I end up bald,
I will drown my sorrows with the help of marshmallows.

It will never grow long like algae, but at least it is there.
My poor comb is filled with knots, the brush is strangled by my broken hair.
When I go to the stylist I say voila!
They say buy this product or that, but my hair doesn't cooperate,
I say enough!
I prefer to waste money on marshmallows,
Then on products without hope.

rain, rain, go away.
I don't want to play today.
I don't want to play.

rain, rain, go away.
when you come it's not a fun stay.
not a fun stay.

rain, rain, go away.
let me have a sunny day.
have a happy day.

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.