We were here before;

then, like blind people, we didn't --


notice each other.

Before the sunrise:

the gloaming greenish notlight –


of the dark blue sky.

After the departure of the Romans
we were our own bosses again
at war with each other

The sergeants took over
first the peripheral areas
then the middle land

Only behind the mountains
the residents still resist
longing for a king of their own

as once
his sword shone
his sword shines

immovably stuck
in the eyes of the people
dreaming of a peaceful life

a passed-on promise, for once
but unfortunately
the sword has disappeared

Disabled people

evolve, as human beings --


they become braver.

Memories, I had

few, in my youth, yet I thought --


they were worth nothing.

We are in danger,

yet we rather behave deaf --


Blasting lights. On. Off.

With a gentle urge

the drums of love are beating --


open all my doors.

I penetrate her,

digging for her promises --


my soul roves about.

Cruel potentates

establish 'peace', simply by --


creating wastelands.

The highest ruler,

the self, is hungry, in need --


of beauty and love.

The rich, exhausted

from all the deprivations --


of their agenda.

In your sleep I reach

for you and I nestle you --


entirely in me.

The poet dreams romantic
of unearthly beautiful women
and he mocks the ordinary people

He's bluffing he will reveal
the women's secret
their fondest heart's desire

In the end he promises
loyalty to an old woman
whose words laugh at him

"Women want to be the boss
of their husband and their lover
not allow them a life of their own"

like in the land of Meagrebeast
where this truth is lied
by women who are jealous

and who defend their husbands
so they don't have to go to bed
with their wrong

I know what she needs,

she's inconsolable, so --


I don't console her.

I can be a saint

in helping people, I should --


try that out to know.

The purgatory:

suffering with a prospect --


of complete Goodness!

There are lots of stones

in my own cemetery --


heavy on my thoughts.

I'm melancholy,

though not for what has been, but --


for what should have been.

Oh, these good old days...

how elusively little --


is left of them now.

Father is buried,

there is more light now, the sky --


is so much wider.

I watched secretly,

my grandpa was dead, he screamed:


three gold teeth pulled out.

His black eye looks back
to me, we are alone
in the meadow, in the roadside

I hold my breath
everything becomes lighter
around the black

Meadow and road the world
empty and we eye
and beating heart

Heavy and firmly
my legs all four
in the ground

Strength crackles
around the electric barbed wire
in my insides

Dad makes clouds, makes them

hover, I am protected --


against the sun's rays.

The air roars and shakes:

Move, move! I hide myself, half --


behind the window.

The poets return

through the former slave gate, with --


liberated words.

Miss Pinch holds the word

Women like a mouse away --


from her, by its tail.

There is no good ending
The sun goes down
without colouring heaven

No birds, no music
I don't even cry
just say: so, goodbye then

It sounds so easy
but I look away and wait
until it's over

When did you slip away from me?
When did we stop talking
about what we don't understand

and gradually didn't know
about each other anymore
not each other's anymore?

Naivety with

large lots of lead in a barn –


that makes a goldmine!

The sun sets faster,

so the days become shorter --


More time for the moon.

I certainly would

do anything for love, but --


I just don't do it.

I am weightless, rocked,

embedded in the warm moon --


of your body curve.

Educational

books are given to children --


who are our teachers.

Just ask anyone

for a story and you'll get --


their complete life course.

Above my sadness,

swallows are swiftly winging –


in the laughing winds.

For the guests there are

flowers, and hidden in them:


fleas waiting to strike.

The dinner table

is stylishly set, spotless --


Sorry, except me.

The walnut tree falls

slowly, horribly, it groans --


sadly in my ear.

In the beautiful

merging of lovers, love turns --


out to be self-love.

He admires my shoes,

unaware of the beauty --


of my tempting toes.

The song, that girl, touches me
time and time again, although I don't want to
think often of her

That girl without hair comb
without dress, just only a number
on her hand

and Antonis who carries someone else's burden

For whom do I carry the burden
of their lives, why
is their life also mine?

It just has to be for you
neighbour, for you, refugee
for girls and for peace

When I can't handle

it anymore, I am saved --


by hours of boredom.

Making people laugh

is risky, because they will --


force you to do it.

I was well prepared,

but when you came, it melted --


in my happiness.

This is our good life:

a whole lot of food has been –


cast before the pigs.

I saw 'Les amants'

and then I walked home, longing --


to love as they did.

A sorcerer doesn't

need a wand or other stuff --


Words are sufficient.

Love does prove itself

in attentively hearing --


of what is not said.

Heaven allures us,

a scent of higher honey --


draws us to full height.

It's raining tonight

on our summer memories --


They are washed away.

He sings about me,

about my desperation --


Everyone hears it.