Tonight,
I’ll keep an empty stomach
enough to carry
my deathlike solitude

along with a cup of
coffee by your company

Until dawn,
a cigarette ash
flew into her right eye

The cigarette remained alight
despite the flood of tears
streaming down her cheeks  

With such a hell
blazing inside her,
she put out fire with smoke

Solitude was her
only consolation,
and all she longed for

There is not a soul
that she yearns for,
but for hers to burn out

Come,
and lay down your sorrow
along with my solitude,
my heart is yours to break  

Come!
let us abate this
intolerable agony
with lavender tea
and beautiful poetry

The tick tock of the clock,
voices,
the sound of the dancing pen
resounds in my head.

what am I doing?
what am I to do?
on this lonely night
with this blue hue.

everyone is silent
the world is asleep
yet my moments are escaping
like sand held in hand.

Time has stopped
yet the clock still ticks
my patience is gone,
yet still, I have to carry on.

...

tonight I’m calling fearful souls
the peers of my tribe
there is chaos in the heart of stones we are casting
there is a lot of pain in unborn desires
we are trembling, we are holding our breath –
what does it mean to feel safe
we are dreaming and waiting
old mothers are screaming unheard
the tyrant is playing backgammon with God

I am searching for each of you in the safety of dawn
the beast with bottomless eyes is here
Inside
so difficult to grasp our soul
to endure this: a world of faceless people
we cover our eyes, mouth, hearts
bottomless eyes are smearing

the body as a battlefield
oh, we remember what we want to have forgotten
we collapse under the burden of our own fragility
the history repeats itself shutting down stories
so many stories of cancelled love

the slaughterhouse soul is too heavy
and I can’t remember the ancient joy and innocence
the simplicity of being
words have just exploded
and my heart is cracked open

and now I am afraid even of my words
of that which should not be named
the murderer of soul, dignity and poetry

I am afraid of staring into bottomless eyes
without my peers
without my tribe

The oversized doors made from panels of oak
From somewhere behind open heavy and slow,
for another akin
The creak of the wood as they let themselves in

Disturbing the hallowed and candlelit quiet
Turning the heads of the practicing pious
We are shook from a dream
By the rushing of wind through this place of esteem