I smiled
And you smiled back
At times
We laughed hard

As Usual
But hope this feeling is mutual

We chatted
Like we used to
Seem acted
You're in the movie too

Unusual
But hope this feeling is mutual

You speak
With your eyes in silence
While I breath
Yet my heart is quiet

Unfactual
But hope this feeling is mutual

You loved
In privy
I love to be loved
More lively

To be factual
Hoping this feeling is mutual

Under the cedar

next to my house is a bench --


for new encounters.

Palms of ocean blue
This sinking boat
Me and you
Hands tied to sheltered love
We float on our backs
Toward shallow waters
Dipping our toes
Into wet sand
Hanging our feet
Off the edge
Of these coastal cliffs
Reaching for the horizon
Tying together strings of current
That exists between
these distant conversations
a rush of turquoise
runs through our blood
cooling down the fire
that rages within
our anger subsides
and we start floating
toward togetherness

I don't want to be an object
of course, but human, a subject
not completely free perhaps

but also not in the hell
of other people's judgment
because I don't ignore

that I am an individual we
an individual love
that falls short

sometimes individual cruel
self-interest, short-sighted
by built-in blinkers

against my nervous fear
of the purgatory of the failures
of other people and myself

(Whoever wants more freedom
and does leave the herd, will know
to be in hell right then)

A human doesn't

belong to humanity --


It is not a group.

Via Via I do approximately know who I am
someone among all the people

who keep the city alive
and show me my soul
We feed each other, therefore eat
each other as one body
mankind, hungering to live
approximately knowing who we are
among each other and the rest
on our long way
up, down
and around

The goals I had, lost
and not missed, lost
in ubuntu

A group deforms you:

you must conform, be alike --


or will be kept out.

What I secretly do
but not hidden
      
from myself, the truth
that I do not want to know
      
yet sometimes see
in the questioning eyes
      
of others, surprised
or hurt, on the border
      
of judgment on me
is the truth in the eyes
      
of my conscience that examines me
I sweat, it's a purgatory
      
and as long as it lasts, it is
hell: I am not
      
just myself
but one of the others

That's the drama

I looked at you and I knew,
that my day had just begun.
You looked at me with that smile,
loaded with tons of fun.
We looked at each other,
and together we became one.