Its amazing how we pass time
Cocooned
In our own beings so that
Nothing
Matters more than the next
Minute
And the freckles on our hands
Possess
More pull than magnetic
Ends
Of planets spinning with hushed
Breaths
Which may soon gasp the cursed
Smog
Of our corrupted souls

A lonely star
Isolated in space
And I dream
Of planets
Touching their atmospheres
Feeling them
Slip smoothly between fingers
Isn’t that love
To gather fingers
In an embrace
To pull someone close
Into your gravity
Whisper them a lullaby
Absorbing their opulence
Falling away into darkness
Constellations of rendezvouses
And this is how
Comets are made

When a cloud dies
doves and eagles
dip their wings
in mournful ‘memberance.

When the sky dies
it rots black
in despairing soot
of ash and pain.

When the moon dies
it’s mourned
by the elliptical kisses
of the planets beyond.

When a planet dies
the universe gently cradles it
and lullaby’s it to the sun
until it falls to sleep.

When the universe dies
the lonely sad earth knows
that all the trees will go dark
when the world dies.

fingertips against sore muscles
constellations on skin

star embedded irises reflect
a universe within.

stardust & moons cusp
varied stages of wax & wane

limitless yet weighted heavy
upon my orbital plane.

try as I might, I can't ignore
as planets grow closer

and comets soar

the parallel gravitation
I've tried so hard to ignore.

She brightens up the darkest streets with her radiating glow.
She carries an appearance that’s hard to miss.
She‘s there whether people pay attention to her or not.
Her appearance may change but she is still the same.
In times she’s whole, she’s magnificent !
Yet we still don’t know what she hides on the other side.
In times she isn’t fully herself, her worth does not lessen.
She’s just as beautiful in two different ways whether she sees that herself or not.
Everyone else will only the parts of her she reveals.
Not everyone acknowledges her presence.
But there are some, who stops to do so.

let us adore this universe of ours
as we wish upon
a shooting stargazer lily
who collides with our world
bringing about blossoms
and pink springs
for days to come

let us hop between the planets
mark the moon as our own
catch the stars in our hands
explore the unknown!

let us create memories
and overfill our senses with joy
blast off our worries
into the void of space
and lie here in fields
full of pink and white orchids

this universe of ours
is so sweet

wings of birds were stolen by the gods, centuries ago
an earth's day lasts for 86, 400.002 seconds
children are roaming in the mind of these lines
they are counting, playfully and without feelings

days come and go, they float through our lives
i wrote about the stages of dreams and dreamt of an *******
the ruins of old poems are silver, blue and red
remains of a day's thoughts, decoded and clear, similarly

it is not wise to count seconds while you are breathing
it is not wise to count on people while they are leaving
it is strange to use "wise" in order to refer to cleverness
people of color may feel excluded by our languages

in german, "white" is called "weiß" and that sounds like "wise"
explain to me the origins of such a word, i demand it
before the river will have swallowed me; i demand an answer
poems come, poems go, leave a trace, stain – and a change

fools are flodding the streets in order to have a five o'clock tea
proudly, they are talking about their old heroes, bearded conquerors
these guys nevah really wanted to dig strangaz, dey killed 'em.
they killed unknown people, they stabbed my dreams

they murdered ancestors because they were used to murdering
they invented words without speaking but grinning
power is an invisible instrument that consists of hierarchies
power is what we see and oversee, power is the origin of wars

wars are the origin of despair; and that is nothing new
wars, though, may be invisible and silent, just in the mind
what is a war, does a war need bombs, guns and soldiers?
wars occur everywhere, daily, within 86, 400.002 seconds

the length of a day is measured in numbers; they are just inventions
numbers are man-made, animals orient on the sun and the moon
humans celebrate planets and write poems about them
we all will surive as long as we keep writing and tolerate each other

I stand here spinning
on my thoughts spinning.
The washer's spinning,
the fan spinning,
wind spinning,
Water drains out spinning,
into the earth seeping,
in the soil, hydrating;
as the planets spinning,
on their axes spinning,
for it is their eternal spinning.

I lie on my back,
gazing at the vast abyss
stretching above us.