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We use to praise
its fruits:
the paintings,
the poems,
the tunes,
the words of love and pain.
We don't see
how
devastating
it had been
for the artist
at night.
When he was a child
he got this grey backpack
from his parents.
It was weighty and his small shoulders
ached grievously
but he didn't say a single word as he
was supposed to carry any burden without
complaining.
From that time on the grey backpack was his constant companion
whereever...
Let us refurbish our flat.
She demands.
A new carpet,
a new wall colour,
or even a new couch next to our
artificial fireplace.
What do you think?
He nods his head silently and
thinks of the hidden
hole in their roof.
Hallo! (Netiquette!)
Die Leere in mir...wie wahr...Durst nach Leben, nach Erfüllung, nach Wahrnehmung...es lohnt sich dem nachzugehen. Was ist der Grund des Durstes?
From time to time
the shadows of the past
knocked at my door
to show me
what I lost and miss.
They filled the room, switched off the
lights and took possession of my own.
I changed the lock,
turned off the bell and
let them knocking
now.
Staring at the red light
I don't move
don't think
don't hope
don't dare
don't love.
So focussed on the red inside
I missed the point
when it changed into
green.