Ich hab ein Haus gebaut, für mich und meine Welt,
Es ist riesig gross, hat massive Wände aber keine Fenster,
massive Türen aber keinen Weg raus;
wer einmal drinn ist, wird nicht mehr so schnell verschwinden.
Daher weiss ich nicht, ob ich dich hier will.
Meine Zimmer sind vollgestopft mit Ideen,
meine Ecken dekoriert mit Stacheln meiner Pflanzen,
meine Geparde sind mit Schweinen eingepfercht,
meine Mäuse rennen mit Geldscheinen herum.
Ich weiss nicht, ob dies ein Platz für dich ist.
Ich weiss auch nicht, ob dieser Platz dich will.
Meine Küche ist übersäht mit Kieselsteinen,
die ich jeden Tag mit mir rumtrage und im Haus verteile,
meine Schränke sind voll von Zeichnungen alter Tage,
als dieses Haus noch nicht mir gehörte.
Die Geister fliegen im Keller herum,
der Estrich ist voller Spinnen und Musik,
mein Badezimmer hält diese kleine Welt am Leben,
füttert sie mit was immer ich durch ihre Leitungen lasse,
um es in den andern Zimmern wieder auszuspucken.
Ich hasse mein Haus, jedes Zimmer darin
erscheint mir gross und leer und wird doch jeden Tag
aufs neue wieder ausgefüllt mit Zeit die ich nicht hab.
Und nach all den Jahren, in denen du hier warst,
schicke ich dich weg, drehe ich mich fort von hier,
denn dieses Haus, ja, dieses Haus gehört nicht mir.
9. Mai 2010
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
AGAIN
World, open up and let me immerse from your claws,
Like a phoenix rise from the rocks and stones the very first day
your mythology was invented by the masculine souls
thousands of years past.
And world, there seems to be a new song, pompous and divine,
every time I open my ears to the whisper of the clouds above.
The clatter of your waste and debris will be passed around,
and the hole in your heart won’t heal in a second, before you end,
end up facing that last task of yours.
World, where will that train of thought lead us, who will appear
to be the glorious winner in this race no one has ever won before?
And time, dear world, passes without a trace; we esteemed that no one
would ever fear the blink of an eye, turns out you did.
And world, we rip you apart, tear you to shreds,
chunks of trash spread all over you, your daughters and sons
as victim of our greed, will you ever escape our clutch and grasp?
If there really was a force here that gave birth
to you and your stellar friends,
would he claim you back after billions of moments?
would you be his again?
And if you release my energy from my crooked bones
by releasing me from your depths,
would I be his again?
Could we ever be his again?
June 15th, 2010
Like a phoenix rise from the rocks and stones the very first day
your mythology was invented by the masculine souls
thousands of years past.
And world, there seems to be a new song, pompous and divine,
every time I open my ears to the whisper of the clouds above.
The clatter of your waste and debris will be passed around,
and the hole in your heart won’t heal in a second, before you end,
end up facing that last task of yours.
World, where will that train of thought lead us, who will appear
to be the glorious winner in this race no one has ever won before?
And time, dear world, passes without a trace; we esteemed that no one
would ever fear the blink of an eye, turns out you did.
And world, we rip you apart, tear you to shreds,
chunks of trash spread all over you, your daughters and sons
as victim of our greed, will you ever escape our clutch and grasp?
If there really was a force here that gave birth
to you and your stellar friends,
would he claim you back after billions of moments?
would you be his again?
And if you release my energy from my crooked bones
by releasing me from your depths,
would I be his again?
Could we ever be his again?
June 15th, 2010
The Road Ahead
You’re sitting on a train,
with a one-way ticket in your hand;
You’re never coming back -
your cat’s dead, your mother’s gone,
your dad’s the only straw
you’re hanging on to in the big wide ocean,
and you’ve got your memories,
you’ve got your guitar
and you’ve seen that look,
that look staring aback at you
in the bathroom mirror, it said you should
get your sassy ass
on a train, not coming back
tomorrow, or even next week;
some people claim you’re running,
running away, and you say yes
yes, I’m running from boredom
yes I’m running from shadows
yes I’m running from one life
into the arms of the next,
and you’re nodding to yourself
as you’re sitting on the train
with a one-way ticket,
bag packed for two days only
while you intend to
make your way round the sun.
And as your way’s unfolding
bit by bit, moment by moment
your head is blank, as is your page
in front of you: no instructions, no help,
no guidance, you’re just riding
riding the wave of uncertainty
but for the first time in your life
you’ve never been so sure as to where
you’re headed at.
You can hear the raindrops
sizzling on the roof
of your train-ride, easily
they adapt to the rhythm of your tears
streaming down your face,
but you’re not crying because of
all you do is cry with and for
and the earth still turns
everyday as it’s done for years
and years before you were done
with this life that’s yours,
finally yours, but you’ve been
unsure about your next steps;
like a fawn, a baby-lion
you swaggered through the minutes
and the people, the boys you meet
look down at you from their high horses,
“knights in shining armours”
is the most overrated,
hurl-evoking phrase of
the past six centuries,
now get down from that high horse,
little sister, you don’t need
that saddle to be in,
that horse to enter the room in on,
no false modesty about
semantics, it’s all for frantics.
And, as you’re way’s unfolding,
easily betrayed by sweet lies,
the laughter in your ears is fading
the smile upon other’s lips is
tasting sour milk and rotten eggs,
so you’re sitting on that train
satisfied by how your history
has unfold, the story has been told.
And the social bond
you’ve held tight for decades
is slipping through your hand,
soon it’ll be gone, dragged
through the mud in your inner eye,
but as you pick up your guitar
and start strumming a tune
while the rhythm of the train
gives you the beat to your luck,
your vision has never been this clear,
and the road ahead is shimmering dear.
7/17/2010
with a one-way ticket in your hand;
You’re never coming back -
your cat’s dead, your mother’s gone,
your dad’s the only straw
you’re hanging on to in the big wide ocean,
and you’ve got your memories,
you’ve got your guitar
and you’ve seen that look,
that look staring aback at you
in the bathroom mirror, it said you should
get your sassy ass
on a train, not coming back
tomorrow, or even next week;
some people claim you’re running,
running away, and you say yes
yes, I’m running from boredom
yes I’m running from shadows
yes I’m running from one life
into the arms of the next,
and you’re nodding to yourself
as you’re sitting on the train
with a one-way ticket,
bag packed for two days only
while you intend to
make your way round the sun.
And as your way’s unfolding
bit by bit, moment by moment
your head is blank, as is your page
in front of you: no instructions, no help,
no guidance, you’re just riding
riding the wave of uncertainty
but for the first time in your life
you’ve never been so sure as to where
you’re headed at.
You can hear the raindrops
sizzling on the roof
of your train-ride, easily
they adapt to the rhythm of your tears
streaming down your face,
but you’re not crying because of
all you do is cry with and for
and the earth still turns
everyday as it’s done for years
and years before you were done
with this life that’s yours,
finally yours, but you’ve been
unsure about your next steps;
like a fawn, a baby-lion
you swaggered through the minutes
and the people, the boys you meet
look down at you from their high horses,
“knights in shining armours”
is the most overrated,
hurl-evoking phrase of
the past six centuries,
now get down from that high horse,
little sister, you don’t need
that saddle to be in,
that horse to enter the room in on,
no false modesty about
semantics, it’s all for frantics.
And, as you’re way’s unfolding,
easily betrayed by sweet lies,
the laughter in your ears is fading
the smile upon other’s lips is
tasting sour milk and rotten eggs,
so you’re sitting on that train
satisfied by how your history
has unfold, the story has been told.
And the social bond
you’ve held tight for decades
is slipping through your hand,
soon it’ll be gone, dragged
through the mud in your inner eye,
but as you pick up your guitar
and start strumming a tune
while the rhythm of the train
gives you the beat to your luck,
your vision has never been this clear,
and the road ahead is shimmering dear.
7/17/2010
Saturday, 17 July 2010
Bullets copied and burnt
A less tiring title for a less loathsome poem would have been desired
by more than only three poor souls who turned up that afternoon
and I felt as if the ground would tear open and tear me downwards,
spiralling on my own accord, my gravity lost in the fall.
I had no clue who was ready to bury the hatched - out of four
only two turned to me and stroke my broken wings.
I took another deep gulp of air, turned and faced my fear,
all my demons that had been hiding behind pillars,
sheepishly grinning at me, with their fricking features,
their tomboyish attitude almost broke my will to succeed.
I will or will not succumb to my desire to turn around and run,
run till my fingers bleed and write till I run out of oxygen,
“Either way, you’re gonna lose it all, your face, your savings,
even that black cab waiting for you round the corner.”
Any second, any minute that went by I grew less and less steady
on my feet and a faint voice from another time yelled into my ear
from afar that “you don’t need this disease, not right now”,
and I was so sure it was Tom calling to me from another place
in another voice, where French was less frowned upon.
Nevertheless, I did turn around, I faced my fear in shaking boots,
and three pairs of eyes fixed their gaze on my forehead,
and still they are judging me to my very core.
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
At Stealth Speed
At stealth speed I didn’t realise what you meant
When you said I should remember the mental image
Of the moment I heard about his accident.
In that seven seconds I could have opened hell
And all its deviations below, could have enchanted
Those dragons to burn you alive.
After those seven seconds an annoying thought
Made its way into my heart and started nagging
On my throbbing muscles.
What if you were right, mental doctor, what if
I did channel that melancholy, that fear, that
Oh so wonderful agony
And use it for mankind to bask in, for women folk
to understand the limits of failure and disappointment,
The moment a life collapses.
After yet another seven seconds I thought it didn’t matter
So I opened my lungs and inhaled that bitter sweet
Scent of electronic devices,
Thought about the archives in our brains and conjured
Up that moment when I dropped my mobile, let the
Voice on the other end fade away.
There was this earthly tune, touched by the force of
the unknown strength within myself when, at stealth speed,
I remembered the moment he let go.
June 14th, 2010
When you said I should remember the mental image
Of the moment I heard about his accident.
In that seven seconds I could have opened hell
And all its deviations below, could have enchanted
Those dragons to burn you alive.
After those seven seconds an annoying thought
Made its way into my heart and started nagging
On my throbbing muscles.
What if you were right, mental doctor, what if
I did channel that melancholy, that fear, that
Oh so wonderful agony
And use it for mankind to bask in, for women folk
to understand the limits of failure and disappointment,
The moment a life collapses.
After yet another seven seconds I thought it didn’t matter
So I opened my lungs and inhaled that bitter sweet
Scent of electronic devices,
Thought about the archives in our brains and conjured
Up that moment when I dropped my mobile, let the
Voice on the other end fade away.
There was this earthly tune, touched by the force of
the unknown strength within myself when, at stealth speed,
I remembered the moment he let go.
June 14th, 2010
The Battle of Ayluii
She held fire in her hands,
With initiative to plan the haze
And the glory of the past was all that’s in her head
We’ve been dreaming of the world
As one big globe of celebration but the mob
Kept telling us there’s nothing we can change
She wanted to revisit the place
Where everything began, where the story started
to take shape, where her future manifested through the maze
“Coming back here, it’s all full of ghosts”,
she sighed and threw herself on the floor,
leaving us with silent mockery, disappointment, wanting more
“We’re all that’s to blame for”, she softly
lamented into the hands in front of her face,
“we somehow need to restart the bonfire in our hearts"
Anyhow, we thought, grabbed the guns
And swords of steel, the many silver bullets
In our palms and clad ourselves in grays and browns
Some of us took that invisible drug
To push us to the outer limits of ability,
While others relied purely on instinct and courage,
And so we’re standing on the wall,
Our gaze turned east, our senses heightened,
Waiting for the sun to shine for us, to greet us one last time
And before the ground is sprayed in red,
The air absorbs that taste of rust and salt,
And the souls of fallen heroes will linger for only a moment
But before the glory of the past turns into
The glory of the present, it cannot stay
in her head, but only in the palm of her hand.
for MJ and the little Blonde, 7/5/2010
With initiative to plan the haze
And the glory of the past was all that’s in her head
We’ve been dreaming of the world
As one big globe of celebration but the mob
Kept telling us there’s nothing we can change
She wanted to revisit the place
Where everything began, where the story started
to take shape, where her future manifested through the maze
“Coming back here, it’s all full of ghosts”,
she sighed and threw herself on the floor,
leaving us with silent mockery, disappointment, wanting more
“We’re all that’s to blame for”, she softly
lamented into the hands in front of her face,
“we somehow need to restart the bonfire in our hearts"
Anyhow, we thought, grabbed the guns
And swords of steel, the many silver bullets
In our palms and clad ourselves in grays and browns
Some of us took that invisible drug
To push us to the outer limits of ability,
While others relied purely on instinct and courage,
And so we’re standing on the wall,
Our gaze turned east, our senses heightened,
Waiting for the sun to shine for us, to greet us one last time
And before the ground is sprayed in red,
The air absorbs that taste of rust and salt,
And the souls of fallen heroes will linger for only a moment
But before the glory of the past turns into
The glory of the present, it cannot stay
in her head, but only in the palm of her hand.
for MJ and the little Blonde, 7/5/2010
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