06 December 2015


when i walk into the bar: a shadow:
swaying branches, high heeled shoes
sleight of clock hands - minutes
someone cries, somebody shouts
and you choose to scream - 'hello!'
and then you walk out of the hall

13 October 2015

days of 13

ignoring the clouds, sitting
on top of a mountain
listening to butterfly songs

26 September 2015


alone are the dogs
that hunt
only the darkness

30 August 2015


Madam saw Adam, Adam saw madam
There were fireworks and loud thunder
Inside frozen minds, ice age

Then there were different thoughts

Amidst everything that kept repeating
There was a question too:
'Why is he falling? oh, why is he falling?'

Why is he falling? Oh, why is he falling?

25 August 2015

24 August 2015

18 July 2015

(remembering) a conversation

'i stood in front of the mirror' she said
'i held a camera in my hand' she said
'the mirror showed me holding the camera' she said
'i clicked a picture of me holding the camera' she said
'in a dark room, i developed the photograph' she said
'now i have a picture of the mirror showing me holding the camera' she said
'i look at that photograph very often these days' she said
'the photograph always shows me the mirror showing me holding the camera' she said
'i try to see me in the mirror in the photograph that shows me holding a camera' she said
'it never does' she said

'uh oh' i said

23 June 2015


there was a desert -
i had to be there
at that desert

we had to be there, yes
on that day -
i remember it better today

i wish i had remembered it then too
but i got lost
in a world (of too much running around)

that was there around then -
today, now
i remember the desert

here still, is the desert - where i stand
wishing it was the day
when i should have been there

i stand here, alone
casting a long shadow
that should have been cast

some other day
and i think to myself
why didn't i do it?

why didn't i do it?
why didn't i do it?
three times in a row

22 June 2015


we hold our conversations
in an alien tongue
i don't understand what you say
you don't understand what i say
and because nobody understands nothing -
our conversations

17 June 2015

a game of cards

You draw a card
And what turns up
Is the king of spades

Outside the window
It rains tennis balls
Horses hold umbrellas

On the candle flame
You see that name
A shadow on the wall

The jack of spades
Hunts down soap bubbles
Many rainbows die

Outside the dogs bark
Looking at moving clouds
But the rain is dark

Before you know
The seasons change
Leaves fall from clocks

You draw a card
And what turns up
Is the queen of hearts

Then the count down
From ten to one
In between, six and seven

What is born now
Is a purple flower
A lightning and thunder

You draw a card
And what turns up
Is the seven of hearts

15 June 2015


i spend
my blue moon nights

drawing clouds in the sky
and filling them up
with unspoken lines

and in splashing
some more blue
around the moon

and in flying
across the sky - making
my way through the clouds

i am the cow
that jumps over the moon
on blue moon nights

and i moo
and i move - on blue moon nights
and i am

13 June 2015


we drench ourselves in the rain of conversations -
another conversation comes to an end, creating a sense of loss
the way the end of a good book does -
every sense of self, time and the world around is lost
i wring myself and hang me on the line to dry
moments slowly pass and the world returns slowly -
things begin to make sense, reality spreads all around
a droplet of blue ink on blotting paper, drenched in rain

with a bunch of feathers that the birds that flew away left behind
i sweep the floor carefully and gather
all our words that lay scattered all around
i put them inside a box and hide it safe in a dark corner
and try not to think about it till the time is right
for me to go back to it again
the stars twinkle in the night sky and shooting stars fall
outside my window

there will be another day, later, a long time away from now
another night like this, when the blue moon will rise -
then i'll stand by my window, clutching the box to my chest
i'll look at the night sky and listen to familiar tunes of the breeze
like the night of some other time - the night will feel the same -
the same stars will twinkle and the same shooting stars will fly
everything and everyone that had to go would have left

then i'll open the box full of words from old conversations -
sitting on the floor, i'll let the blue glow of the moon
spread my shadow on the floor - on which i'll arrange the words
one after another, one after another -
recreating a conversation that once was -
creating again all alone a world that once was, with those words
and i think i'll smile to myself then -
but till such a night arrives, the box will stay hidden in the dark
with all the words and the attempts to forget them
or the tries just not to remember them -

till a night like this is back again

10 June 2015


when it is almost the end of the run
always appear out of nowhere - seven more
last steps before one can stop running -
before it is time to spread the wings and fly
seven steps at a time, seven more at every end
the run never ends -

the feathers, like the pages
of an intimidatingly thick book (or a boring one,
for that matter) never see get to see
the light

09 June 2015


on special nights like this -
such nights of no sense
only tens
can save me from fives
walls of magic
to save one from a fall -
the fall
before a dream - immediately
after the end of one
on special nights like this


the sky is an unusual shade of coffee and smoke
a cloud the shape of the distorted shadow of a postbox
stretched lazily across the sky
distant pistons and stomping feet set the rhythm of the evening
directions disappear, north is east and everything is everywhere
they wear a thin film of sweat in between skins and clothes
keys are carrots, cabbage locks - flowers wilt, leaves fall
sighs and car horns sound alike, as they punctuate the river
of breeze that flows and falls, flows and falls in between
my feet move along the seashore - my breath, steady -
with every step i breathe out seven names at a time
and i wish to see them all as one - a lost rabbit
comes and deposits a letter in the shadow of the postbox
salt in my nose and the scent of another evening lost, on my mind
and i stop - in front of me, the sea
and another day that has reached here much earlier than it should have -
yet another sunset and my last day, in front of me
another unsent letter and an unsmiled smile
the sky is an unusual shade of coffee and smoke
a cloud the shape of the distorted shadow of a postbox
stretched lazily across the sky

07 June 2015

0 - 1

Having searched for familiar names
In lexica, almanacs (and also in between the sheets of waking up)
(on forgotten mornings of lost nights)
For a really long time now

The colours and lines of the songs and faces (known or unknown)
Seem to have faded away, the twinkling of the surreal stars that last just a night or two (is probably imaginary)
The probability of the rebirth of all beliefs old however (amidst vehement denial)
Is spread everywhere (or lies anywhere) between zero and one

Nothing (not a name, nor a face) begins anything new

Nothing (not a name, nor a face) begins a new phase nor something new with a name (or no name)

05 June 2015


sign boards

scene change
nowhere to go


26 May 2015


in silver moonlight
rain of yesterday it falls
drop by drop by drop

09 October 2014

It's another usual nightmare that you get

Oh, what is not random, if this is?

Filling the air with ecstasy
Reminding everyone born and thinks he or she is still alive
Or to be

They contended themselves with something easier and agreeable – then
Grins fall down on us, drench us
And leave us all wet with grins and more grins
Understand, with their eyes done blind.
We get our own doubts.

To places far away, to lands far away
Yes its right, no it’s wrong, no?

Cut to another moment - military style, shampoo your shaven head
Name? What’s in a name? A pose is a pose is a pose

Just because your legs are long and because you have a tattoo on your lower back
Inside the murmur of every secret alibi
When the autumn moon shines above
Secrets need not open up

Just let the rattling breeze be
23 Across: Lumps of mud made into round shape (3,3) M-U-D-P-I-E! Easy!
It’s time to walk away, for you have solved the puzzle
None else but you knows it, but it doesn’t matter

It’s only October
Again, all over again
Nights of endless cups of coffee – from cups that are bottomless

We live the super way
And I still know not how – we can ask ourselves the same old questions
On such endless nights of endless questions
It is the same room after all

We get good at forgetting every face lost
Then we try to put our fingers on the lovely apparition
The shape of everything that went wrong

Keats’s line is just one another thing that hides our secrets
And we both know what it hides, and the secrets
And the code words to open treasures

But that is only one thing
Ducks are just simple birds and the curious rhymes
Just that they are all over eaten on time
Watching people, wanting to talk and all

There were dragons that rode the clouds
Up, above – up and above

And how nothing is all there is
Said he, that it was somebody’s fault but ours
But it was evil

Here now, this sounds good to me

07 July 2014

Uh, oh, oh!

So, who’s going to go?
Yeah, go, you know?
So, who’s going to go?
Why, though?
For a better tomorrow?
Everybody says that, you know?
Is that a problem though?
So, who’s going to go?
Yeah, go, you know?
Will you go?
I think so…
Ok, cheerio!

08 May 2014

the wolf and the crane and the moon and the clouds and the night

and then the moon sighs and breathes out a few clouds
the ripples on the surface of the lake cut
the moon into thin silver slivers -
no mercy - the breeze pushes those silver blades
to the edges of the lake

the crane stands on its one leg, looking at the moon
and the clouds and they sing their blue song together
the silver gray of the mindless night hides the tune
with its veils

across the sky jumps the one winged flying wolf
whistling its own song - ooo-ooo-ooo and the world
freezes for a moment, nothing moves

the feathers of the crane all shining a-white, the moon
light and the wing of the wolf that slowly flaps
the crane and the wolf - moving moment after moment -
through their lives, in shades of abnormality

especially on such nights, and quite so often - on
many a day too - with similar thoughts
punctuating their every breath
'why did i do it then?'
'why didn't i do it then?'

it's just
the wolf and the crane and the moon and the clouds and the night

07 May 2014


'How, how?' said god
'Bow wow!' said dog

25 April 2014

in between

in between dreams
happens the dream that always happens
in between

05 April 2014


Cat at my window –
Burning coal bits for eyes

Diamonds! Stars! Lightning!
Beautiful, yet a little frightening

The night before – there were skies
Lethal stars, similar glow

09 August 2013


not a day - and yes,
not a dream &
not a night ~ naked ~
the orange year -
segments seven - plus
plus seven or seven plus
plus - all - wrapped ~
around a nut that fell

15 June 2013




deja vu



et tu?


deep blue?
bright blue!







08 June 2013

tv rainbow

i didn't ask for a TV rainbow
but for a real one - the static only
makes it worse - on TV or in real



I like this day the way it is –  ah,
It’s bright, it's pleasantly cold as the
Cool wind blows, the leaves move

I feel good, I feel blessed
To be me, in this day that is
Bright – ah, I’m alive here and now

Suddenly at a distance, from
There near the horizon a large
Form, ferocious – takes shape

And it grows larger in size
It moves from there to here –
Straight here, where I am

It can’t be me anymore – so, sorry –
It’s you, who sees the large form
Moving towards you, you’re afraid

It grows larger and larger, the
Same wind blows but you don’t
Like the day or the wind anymore

It’s a dragon, an angry one
(What is worse, than a dragon to ruin
Your good day, is only an angry dragon)

And so you run – you run
For your life – away from here –
You run and you run and you run

The dragon chases you – you
Run hard and fast to escape the dragon
Your day is not so good anymore pant, puff

In the end some miracle happens
And I am saved – the dragon
Slayed – some miracle, oh well

My great day is back again
The brightness and the cool wind
And it’s not you anymore, sorry

19 May 2013


A bare wall, badly broken – patches of white paint here and

There she stands with her world of worries in thought bubbles

Inside her head and there behind on the wall to her left – a black
Broken square

Almost a frame to a spray drawn face – half alive on the wall and
The other

Exists somewhere else, not on the wall, not in the thought bubbles

Inside her head but out of the black broken frame on the wall

18 April 2013


your world, as you say, is inside your head
and the world mine, is inside the head, mine

the world ours -
is nothing beyond the worlds - yours
and mine

our world - is what we made
for ourselves - inside our own heads
and of none besides - removing us

from us, there is nothing else that
has to stay, but us

they are nowhere there, in there -
their world theirs,
made inside their heads

recreating our world, when we make it -
worlds - yours and mine
they have their own worlds - inside their heads

alone and together

27 February 2013


you can do it once again, tonight -
to look at the stars of this night and search
for your name or the other name -
the stars don't really care - for
twinkling is their duty and so they'll
twinkle on - the way they did the night before
or the night before that, when the world hadn't
changed much with you

when the sun rises and then when
the stars disappear - the names that you had
searched for, may become invisible for a while but
they never disappear - how many names could
one night write on its sky, with the stars and how
many could be searched for, and read?

names searched for in stars become invisible -
they don't disappear, neither are they forgotten
somewhere or the other

the night skies of waking moments - and the
night skies of dreams when you sleep
are essentially different but the stars
that twinkle - they always feel like they are
all the same, night after night...

10 December 2012

a semicolon and the end of a fish

Pigs don't fly, they say -
But I've seen fish that do
Flying fish run across, flitting away -
Neon purple wings and fairy feathers
Sundays on to Saturdays and on once again
Tuesdays have always been full
Of promises of grand lunches -
To forget the profundity and then the profanity;
That ensued; time flew by - standing
By the fence, forty percent
On this side - with no room for a period
A full stop was only a possibility -
But not a hope - a semicolon has always stood
In between - separating parts -
Indicating pauses longer than a coma -
With one missing m, the state
Of prolonged forgetfulness, but shorter - than
A period at least seven years long - as
The dictionaries say and try to explain -
Fish fly and on to the other side
Of the sky, where flying fish are no miracles
With no periods and no stops that are full
There on the other side remain till the end
Are only a semicolon and the end of a fish