the brush creates
    in careful steps
a painter‘s vision of the face
lets eyes shine bright
    or filled with pain
the lips closed firm and serious
    or hinting at a secret smile
abundant hair, a bit, or none at all
large ears, or medium, or small
pale cheeks, or rosy, with a glow
firm chin, with or without a beard

few limits to the versions of the world
in the attempt to make
the portrait gaze
right into viewers' eyes
    wide with surprise

the  air-conditioned railjet takes me
with strangely whincing wheels
through winding tracks
along the mountains of my youth

clouds are hanging low
    after recent rainfalls
fog shrouds the forest hills
    in mystical silhouettes
rises slowly from the valleys
revealing an old castle here
     a younger hotel there

the next stop announces
     my birthplace
today's wet greenery passing by the window
makes me wonder what it was like
almost seventy years ago
     two years after the end of a war
     that destroyed many places on the globe
     and killed fifty million people
for my mother to give birth to the first
     of two sons
with a husband who
     at the age of 21
had just made his way
      not quite nine months before
escaping from a Soviet POW camp

     took him and a friend one month
     walking by night
          hiding by day
     through all of Poland
     to end up in a British field hospital
     from which they fled
           gratefully
     when they had regained some energy
     jumping trains from northern Germany
          to eastern Austria
     coming home just before Christmas 1946

and as my hometown disappears in fog and rain
I hear the muted noises of the high-tech train
     now on a steady downhill track
musing how easy my own life has been
no wars, dictatorships, catastrophes

how we are born into a world
so different from our parents‘
raised by their words and values
to make our way

As if in mild amusement at the way
I undermine myself and let my flaws
Cast shadows over my worth,
My neurons light up and give birth
To electricity that sprints through,
Weaving ideas, creating magic,
Shaking me up and lifting me high,
Bringing me face to face, eye to eye,
With the beautiful truth which sets me apart-
That my body is the house of art.

Multiverses infinite,
Endless permutations
Harmonise together into
Fortuitous combinations
Of planets and stars,
Of fluid minutes and hours,
Zoning time into a ceaseless warp,

Yet, the sole instance I ever achieved
Absolute **Mehfooziyat
Was in that stationary speck of a moment,
When my heart lay idle in your arms.

Masks we sometimes wear
Wearing a happy face when we want to cry
why do we disguise what is truely inside and hide behind these masks we wear?
A comedy mask to hide the pain and tears that we still prefer not to face after all these years
the true tragedy that we endured is buried deep beneath
We can become slaves to fear and let the mask turn to a horrific one if we let the fear overcome us.
We can be so afraid of rejection instead of seeking protection from fear itself or instead of letting someone know us for who we really are.
It is better to be real with those around us then to be suffocating behind the masks we sometimes chose to wear
It can be so freeing to just except ourselves and let others see our unique real qualities instead of a masked altered identity.

I run into the melody.

the crimson sounds hug me.

i ever struck a still place.

it was a singing rose.