beyond words
we are

a single sound of joy

here

in

the midst of light and dark

falling upwards

like a raindrop

into

the colourful silence

dancing and turning

everywhere

where

we rest and move

stars shelter a common moment

we laugh and cry

shouting

in the absence of time

when

white sea spray jumps

on waves’ crests

we find

salty temptation on our lips

impermanently consistent

we observe and listen

into the red light of the rising sun

we go

beyond words

Sometimes

 

Sometimes, when loneliness catches me,

I think of you.

I turn my head and search for the sun.

Rosemary and Thyme, Olives and Roses.

A slight bit of cold cigarette.

I smile.

Did I ever mention how much I like the smell of fresh tobacco?

When I see the butterfly in the middays sun,

I see fragments of memories, clear as sky.

A place we shared,

Moments of lust and joy,

From the past into now.

Special you were.

Here. There.  Anywhere.

A teardrop on my cheek and again,

I smile.

I wonder what you do. I wonder where you are. 

Hopefully you dance. Hopefully you smile.

Some times, the sometimes is more often than sometimes.

Above all

I sit in the open space, trapped.

I sit in a cage, free.

Freedom, above all. 

No fear and fragmentation

In the here and now.

Ode to the beauty of existence,

The joy of experience,

To peace of mind.

When we become one,

Only then can joy unfold in clarity.

Without doubt,

That is freedom.

Above all.

Blue feathers


Young Ikarus grew roots into the air,

Became his own wings,

Free up in the sky.

The wind's companion,

the cloud's dancing partner.

Nowhere and everywhere he wanders.

Through light and shade

he entertains us.

Ungraspable, invisibly present.

In every moment

Comforting and consolidating.

We just have to turn our head and look.

Blackbird

Oh didst though here the blackbird sing.

Sending through silence

her most precious voice.

So modestly she whispers, while  nightingales cry loudly, their melodies of joy. She, the one who converts me on first sight.

Her wings just little dots under the hawks shadow, yet fearless and powerful she sings.

Until her last and latest moment. And only then she stops. While claws dig into her black coat.

And after dawn when silenced light unreavels his devlish deed. He suddenly is human like. A lonesome hunter, a shade on a stone. Sitting with bloody claws.  

And in the silence he remembers her last sound, their last moment of beauty.

A foolish man, no joy, no ground.

Yet irretrievably lost is her carol.

Traces

Traces of  lost path, 

Journey into the unknown.

Where happiness grows,

Where resentment vanishes.

Like shades of the cedar tree

Is the only dark that remains,

The vails of my own ego,

Slowly vanishing into emptiness.

As the sun rises above the hills

And white sand finds a coral sea.

Little do I understand,

Even less do I know. 

Here we are 

In the middle of nowhere.

Behind us a past we cannot change.

Before us a future we cannot predict.

Below us an impermanent earth.

Above us an unreachable sky.

Within us an ungraspable Now.

It's all we have, we ever had.

Die Einsamkeit, sie ist es nicht.

Es ist nicht Einsamkeit an sich.

Es sind Erinnerungen, unscheinbar,

Erwachsen sie am Horizont.

Wie Rauschen des Windes in den Blättern,

so voller Stille seiner selbst.  

Und doch gehöre ich dann,

Wenn alles über mich einstürzt,

Als ob es ein Teil von mir wäre - dazu.

Mein Körper.

Hier und dort, ohne Worte  

Geschrieben in einer anderen Zeit:  

 

„Seltsam, all jenes, welches kommt,

zwei Eigenschaften, voller Stille,

Welches das Stärkste ist an ihnen

Selbst dann, wenn sie es nicht in jenem Maße,

Und in Wahrheit wären,

So wirken sie als lautlose Erscheinungen,

Die zu mir sprechen mit Blicken und Gebärden,

Wortlos und schweigend.

Und Ihr Schweigen

Ist das Erschütternde. Still.

Sie sind so still.

Still, weil das, was war

Für uns so unbegreiflich ist.“

 

Ihr gegenüber, selbstlos, vergessen

Bewegung und vielleicht viel mehr

Als Wirklichkeit, diese eine Illusion,

Die uns erlaubt in Worte zu fassen, das

welches uns unwirklich erscheint,

Und uns vergibt.

Nur sie ist - in jenem Moment.

Die Wirklichkeit verblasst, in ihrem Angesicht.

Dann erst, nachdem der Horizont gemalt

Und über ihn hinaus gegangen,

Ist gleichsam hier und dort,

Erkennen mehr als nur Verstand.