Silent Echoes

 

 

Night
                - epilogue on three dances

by turning darker it protects the lovers
experiences their fears and their caress
encounters the most secret of longings and
retreats through the sprouting sense of lust

but even she does not hold herself
to be dark forever for she is dreaming up
tents consisting of myriads of lights
while twinkling life into the darkness

and yet, accompanied by meteors, she is moving
into the heart filled with fearful anticipation
shines on the hopes of overflowing souls
and illuminates for us illusions of slumbering dreams

and still she frames the day
just for us and then fades away
in the morning disappearing from sight
to rest within the glamour of time.

 

 

Of flight and graves
                - to my late father

You chose to rest in
the eternal holdout,
deprived of time
and motion, sanctioned
but with ominous and gruesome
blessings of disguise.

You left to us
an internal burning
of questions and doubts,
drowning deep inside of
a never-resting ocean
slicing away from inside of
time and space and emptiness.

All that remained is
an infinitely reverberating,
nonchalantly whispering
voice of one no-body,
the thoughts of some
other, different, no one,
hushed in by clouds
and ushered out by silence.

Such is the pile of earth,
the wooden box which now holds
too much of my deadening fear,
too many of my answers and dreams.

 

 

 

Change of scenery
                - for an artist

Actually speaking
you yourself
are already too much
for you

you go your own ways
realize your own goals
But then
out of the blue
she crosses your path

Someone
long-haired and open-minded
more likely wrapped in thought
than being turned towards you
and so refreshingly feminine

Nothing extraordinary
or world-shaking
(you would have to admit
if you were honest to yourself)

But you
take a look at yourself
and you discard your old image
and create a new one
just for her.

 

 

 

Just trying

It is said,
they say,
that besides
so many a thing
a human being
is capable of doing,

there is the ability
to communicate.

Nevertheless,
I do believe,
that in times
when everybody
is talking about peace,
one is using a weapon
of most deadly kind:
word.

 

 

Homesickness

A turmoil of longing
roaming through
my mind and soul
passing the illusions
of something like home
following no path
just traveling on
to distant shores
of unknown seas

My thoughts on being
leave me in despair
of something lost
which simply cannot return

Home —
not knowing
what it is
and where it is
or might have been
whether it ever was
or will ever be
but surely knowing
that I am
missing
it.

 

 

 

Watching triangles turn into squares
                - a love poem

I made love to you last night
drinking away your restlessness
while sinking into ecstatic highs
blessing the lust that was sweating

salty drops of blood on your thighs
uncovering the hardness of breasts
so distractingly appealing to touch
indeed I made love to the night
lying broken at the door of dreams

wishing silently to conquer this place
with its odor resembling the musk of dead cats
whose tails were burnt by fallen stars
their screams awakening the sensual ripples

that send gushes of longing into the tunnel
where light and darkness unite to smolder
the trembling hearts exhausted and spent
like the final drink of the city's homeless
passing from broken hands to broken souls.

 

 

 

Quiescent dance
                - for you who opened my heart and soul

There are sounds around us
that waltz with silence
losing three steps in servitude
gaining four steps in solitude

they fly through empty air
to regain a space in the open
where we can hear their majestic concert
reflected in the clinging of wind chimes

that hang outside the open
window to my listening soul
their finale resembles silence
that roars in uninhabited seashells

lying broken and so in vain
on the steps of the symphonic waves
whose rolling reverberates eternity
like the quiet that accompanies us
when we listen inside of us

our eyes reflecting the inner beauty
one can discern in every heartbeat
and recognize in every little step

with which the wind moves the chimes
that sing in tune while listening to
this waltz of silence.

 

 

 

Breathing sensibility
                - thinking of you

When I spoke
of courting the candle
alone at the foot of the night
I was already engulfed
in the flame of your eyes
in the fire of your passion

When I was seen
walking with you on my mind
alone amidst one falling star
burning its dying path
into the dark of a solemn mass
that would not think of ending

I was captivated
by the soul of stones
murmuring in the silence
of cemeteries with open graveyards
from which I could hear hearts
beating like hammers on anvils
forging a life and a breath
into my heart glowing deep red
with the blood of a million dreams

From which your face
framed by hair as brilliant
and as intriguing as the night
revealed the pleasures of one
who turned once again to love
through my humbled verse

For you I shall write a body
guard it with flesh and skin
fill it with seeds of longing
that spell out the growing desires
my pen will forever dare to speak.

 

 

 

Listening to the gatekeeper
                - a love poem of sorts

Do not venture beyond
the canvas of forbidden illustrations
do not go to the other side

you might discover worlds
you have longed for too long
to make them a part of you

The thinker would marvel
at the sea of bewildering pleasures
masking his desires within abstractions
guided by a notion of yearning
that has been dormant far too deep
resting in the abyss of open thighs
where withered lilies go to sleep
making love to their pillow of dreams

The dreamer would travel
on mountains of hardened breasts
springing to the touch of taking
and softening under the poet's pen
the thought of stroking uncovered cheeks
dries up the ink of a final love-story
that will see its ending written in veins
green and pulsating through the tunnels
where night and day meet again

So do not dare of walking
with the fruit of a thousand disguises
do not drift high on emotions

you might awake one night
finding yourself tasting
the red delicious blood of life.

 

 

 

She ... silence

There is a certain kind of silence
that roams inside my inner self
resembling sadness in longing
for a chance to love her self

she moves about inside of me
like winds without a sail
brushing corners of lasting want
and desires too sincere to be

at times she echoes endlessly
in memories and dreams of her
whom she has neither seen nor felt
just heard in whispers and in sighs

where light and shadow chose to flee
in a moan that longed to ravel on
deep inside my abandoned soul
where sound no longer knew its tune

and lingered on as loneliness
in blissful murmurs long and deep
that spoke of moments buried still
in days so much akin to sleep.

 

 

 

On my ways

Where will I find
myself one of these days
walking and wandering
on the paths of this earth
in an attempt to find
myself and to discover
all of the days that
I may actually call my own
at the end of my voyage

Nobody will ever see
no one will ever know
but wherever it may be
I shall always be traveling
in the company of a friend
and the gentle stroking rustle
of an ever-blowing wind

 

 

 

Night moves

The night passes by slowly
while thinking its last dream
hours creep by in solitude
looking for a wind to move
the chimes hanging down deep
from the shadows beneath my eyes

The stars shine their final light
rocking ecstatically like a dancer
who moves topless and without hips
the moon waxes its shiny skin
illuminating the sins of the night
while guarding the dancer’s fall

This night has seen some multitude
of strangers making love to their fears
hiding lustfilled behind bamboo shades
and looking on to the love scene before them
their bodies reject the words she stumbles
for truth does not fit into their plans

This night will see one more death
before the morning buries its darkness
in beds of betrayal where lust has slept
too empty to gain one more illusion
to steal it from the night and then to run
down the road where fate lies dying.

 

 

 

Beyond silence
                - for Cindy

All distances vanish
like echoes, roaming
in search of an ending

solemnly passing
air filled with
unwanted anticipation

while shivering
like a soft-spoken word
escaping your touch

reminding me
of unchartered paths
inside your beauty

always reverberating
like the gentle breeze
stroking the pussywillow

recovering its course
only to fade away
to the other side of silence.

 

 

 

Da capos
                or: Tango for one

I hear them whisper
da capos in the wind
faintly and distant
still elusive at best

 

I long for their presence
yet I cannot avail
myself of their closeness
nor comfort those who can

 

I sense them fleeting
then trading here for there
betrayal of memories
with mere absence to share

 

That leaves but a rumble
murmurs of solitude
while sounding its footprints
in a constant farewell

 

 

 

Language
                - for my sons Christopher and Alexander

It is seldom precise
mostly akin to failure
stricken with desires
to communicate

It is thirsty for words
wrapping sense and sensibility
in tiny fragments of meaning
tinier still in meaningfulness

It strives to carry us
to unknown places of want
lets us roam open landscapes
on broken fields of dreams

It is hungry for the storm
to sail through myriads of thoughts
break from old and tradition
and find its fantasies aloft

It is constantly longing
to fill our insatiable minds
to bring us closer to a truth
we never meant to feel inside

Yet it is hardly ever
meeting our immediate needs
leaving us in perplexity
while we grasp for roots

It is blatantly indeterminant
in its terror and its beauty
longing to drift with the wind
while trembling in the softest breeze

Language is and remains above all
a permanent reminder to everyone
of its limitations to portray reason
and its inability to capture reality.

 

 

 

Virtual fiction

Somewhere
in the middle
of down
and under
at the uneven
threshold

of some cumbersome doubts
and the fear of uncertainty

there lies a certain hope
an old but unborn dream
suspended and seemingly aloft

anchored but within boundaries
of self-defined rules and morals

left behind by a direction
compromised on principles.

 

 

 

Single sinik from silence

Lost in communication
thoughts are dancing
inside a hollow sphere
in a canyon of light
where the night continues
to blind the traveller

lost in fervent dreams
and dreamlike anxieties
sheltered between opposites
suspicious and neglected

silence reaches onward
propelling one more night
into another sea of darkness
an ever-reverberating ocean
of quietly unknown distances
more silent still than emptiness
less known than ever before

lost again in that silence
where I can hear mussels
breathing in breathing out
where every thought resembles
an infinitely deeper notion

of some sanctimonious space
where every blade of grass
ushers in a new morning dew
driven by the rustling wind
that mystifies every return

in which time travels alone
attempting to reach for closure
but always one sinik away
from a place called silence.

 

 

 

Simply words

She said
she knew
she claimed
she understood
but how can she
possibly hear
my words
if she cannot
hear my silence?

 

 

 

Homeless

Some silences
grow so mute
outside their contours
devoid of their domains --

one can almost hear
their muffled hesitations
just before they break
the walls of indifference.

 

 

 

Synchronicity
                - for Mike

There is this place,
so far away,
somewhere across
some open sea,
at some distance,
in some distant dream --
I am at home.

This place called home,
where I am not allowed
to be at home --
I am at home.

At home on the other side
of some elusive wall
that no longer stands --
I am at home.

In a place of multiplicity,
there are two lives
competing inside of me:
two hearts and two minds,
two languages and two cultures,
two bodies in a single soul --
and somewhere in the middle,
there lies this thing called home.

 

 

 

Like sand on my pillow

I want this night come once more
and dance in shadows dark and low
I want this night, this final night
to bring you home so I can die

For I have gone beyond my dreams
leaving winds anchored at sea
drenched in hope that they may find
their way out of this tidal abyss.

I want this moon so full with night
eclipse inside my trembling pulse
I want this murmur echo out loud
to guide your search for one more rest

For you have sponged your hopes
with fears of now and dreams of loss
drowned in those intimate expectations
which left no vanishing traces to find.

I like this pillow tell me again
the fears it harbored in your sleep
but most of all I expect to meet
the dreams you no longer want to feel.

 

 

 

Dress rehearsals

Somewhere on the soles of my shoes
rest the breezes of a thousand winds
carried in on long and tired feet
from journeys far and in between

Somewhere in the corner of my soul
reverberate the words of a hundred prophets
claiming an innocence of disciplined logic
while tempting virtues in temples of vice

Somewhere in the scrapbook of my life
smolder those pages of my unwritten dreams
reading out silently thoughts of hue
hidden under the colors of spring and fall

Somewhere in the windings of my mind
floating on ice under bridges of sighs
travels my heart in search of its soul
dressed in shoes made of clouds and rainstorms

Somewhere out there under this broken sun
walks the image of my inner self
moving with lightness and laughing aloud
while filling its shoes with footsteps and sand.

 

 

 

Even after all these years
                - to my late father, again

There was some ringing
reverberating through my sleep
awakening my body
while my mind kept on drifting
and my soul continued dreaming

yet the ringing was persistent
like a vicious cancer cell
echoing through those final stages
of a well-deserved state of resting

it kept on returning
ring after ring after ring
like those beggars
hanging out at every street corner
until I was finally
sufficiently annoyed
and started to answer it
dragging the rest of me out of bed
like a lover who just spent
his final orgasmic convulsion

I will not forget the moment
neither the time nor the day
when my fingers clamped the receiver
almost broke the instrument
which relayed my mother’s words
of your final departure
on that certain morning

I was waiting ... waiting
after hanging up
for the line to die, too
waiting for the phone
to be just as dead
as you would be now

I am still waiting ... waiting
for your voice to return
to come to me one last time
and announce the arrival
of your final farewell

And I am waiting
... still waiting