My unborn children

They await for me
With sick eyes unshaped and empty.
The future frozen.
Unreachable behind a wall of ice.
Breath freezes upon it.
And I stand, cocooned by white flakes of snow
yielding forgiveness and oblivion.

Around me everything is pristine and bare.

The dead star

Perhaps love is
That dead star -
Gone out unbeknown to us
Millions of light moments ago
Whose light deceivingly
Still travels towards us.

Lightworms

Do we not comprehend
And do we not accept the end,
That small eruption
That destroys the core of the wonder of Life?

Is this how we differ from the stars -
Fading away into the orbit of the infinite -
From the sparks - scattered by the wind
By the side of the road;

Or are we closer to the light worms -
That vanish in flight,
In the darkness of the night,
scattering their dead shells of light
over the dry leaves and burnt herbs.

My heart aches for the mothers

My heart aches for the mothers
Dying slowly in dark wards
Where human pain is crowded
Under the sorrowful hands of time

Where sisters dispense
tranquillity in pills
and the doctors the truth
on the blade of a scalpel
My heart aches for the mothers
Waning in dark hospital wards
- vestibules to crematoriums -
With the one and only hope
That the relatives
Won’t let them afterwards
Fall under the knife and needle
Of the autopsy

My heart aches for the mothers
Cremated on wooden boards
And homemade blankets
And us having to wait for months
For somebody’s ashes
To call our own

My heart aches for the mothers
It hurts me for the death
Made profane
like a chat in the queue

My heart aches for the mothers
I don’t forgive -
For their sake

Existential Schizophrenia

I used to be a cat. Not anymore.
I tried to be a dog,
But never succeeded.

Neither the mousy trifles of a cat
Nor the huntings of a dog
Concern me anymore.

What can I possibly clutch at now?

Alienated

The sun dried out the tears
into salty creases on our cheeks
The wind blew away the memories
of spring butterflies
The sky enclosed us
like birds under a hat
All roads
lead to what we already know -
and we- soberly buying life-
weigh the moments and our mouthfuls of air
on the precise scales of mundane existence.

I fall asleep and set off

I fall asleep and set off
on the steep rope bridges
upwards to the top.
You wait for me, smiling,
on the white path,
to recount to me
why the fire in our hearth subsided
and portraits with white eyes
gaze at us from the walls;
Why the rooms are full
with butterflies’ corpses
and the powder loosening over our heads.
I fall asleep and set off
on the steep rope bridges.

The umbilical cord

To my mother

The umbilical cord
that connected me to your body,
trembling with anxiety and anticipation,
that was connecting you to my body,
trembling in pain and distress -
that umbilical cord of life
is now torn
and the world is bleeding.
The moon tumbles,
red sun
bare and shivering
in a cold universe.