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Where Are My Sunsets?

Where are my sunrises?
Where are my sunsets?
Where are my days?
An endless night
has taken their place.

Where are my colours?
Where is the music?
Colourless it fades.
A blurry image of a world
now passes by – abates.

Where are my sunsets?
There’s no sun to make them.
A distant globe up high
whose light retreats
remains cold in the sky.

Where did you go?
Why did you go?
Now what of me?
What do I do?

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As the World Forgets My Existence

A scorching summer’s sun
making way for
pale pink ribbons
into inky bluish black –

We stood here once
your back not turned –

Do you remember
who I am?
Did that memory
or does a trace –
at least –

A faint ribbon
vaguely through your brain –
to fade.

I feel myself fade –
I dissolve
swirling into the pink
that vanishes
with the sun
as the world
my existence.

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The Known vs. The Felt

I know you’re gone
and I am left alone
to carry on.

But how can you be gone
when you take shape
time and again
within my head?

Do you live on
within the neurons
of my brain?

Do you have shape
that could be seen
on a brain scan?

Did you not die
but simply transition
to another form of life?

A dull response
passed along
the neural networks –
determined to carry on?

I know you’re there
knocking on my skull
from within
time and again –

It’s just that I don’t know
if you are aware
that you’re there

And so I’d better try
to let you go

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And So He Died

And so he died
who, having lived so long,
had buried so many others
and never cried.

And so we stood there
powerless for words.
A person lost, indeed,
but memories and stories
so much more importantly
that day as well were buried.

And so we wept – some of us –
puny humans with no powers
to stop this erosion
of collective memory –

And so we buried him
who had outlived so many
but who was recalled in the end
all the same.

He never told us of his thoughts
so they have all been lost.

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The Broken Bond

They flicker in the moonlight,
two flames that steady burn –
the tides shifting and changing,
the wind blowing astern –
he’s one of those few people
who shift but ever burn –
and outshines all the others,
but never ever learn –
keep burning, flames, keep burning
the broken bonds out-burn –
what’s lost can’t be retrieved,
so leave it past, outworn –

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I miss it – gentle warmth –
caress of souls, of sun and Earth –
a thousand tiny rays and swirls
from you to me and back again –
an endless, wordless, mindless
and thoughtless exchange;
a promise left unspoken
and a word that’s never said
cannot diminish this presence
of the things we had
together –
lingering a while
once you leave me;
your warmth a pleasant memory
as cold envelops me

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Herald of Destruction

I carry bricks and tile with me in my pockets whenever I go to the city. At least it seems so. Every time I return to my hometown I find an old house torn down – every time I go to the city I find a new one erected.
It feels oddly like a curse – as if I draw life with me, and subsequently cause decay in my home whenever I go somewhere else. And it is perhaps an apt metaphor. I do work in the city. I do live there. I do spend my money there and pay my taxes there, even though the city is an ungrateful host that cares nothing for me whereas my hometown would have known to appreciate my effort. It’s just that… I can’t find work in my hometown. Or on the entire island for the matter. The further you get from the city, the less need there is for programmers – and it’s impossible to make a living based on writing, however much I would have liked to.

Continue reading Herald of Destruction

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All There Is Left Now

An open, empty field
covered only by the grass
where something used to be –
well, something had to pass

I stare at the empty space
and cannot fathom this –
all that is left is emptiness

Passing shooting stars
and you’re asked to make a wish
though the thought of that wish
is as short as shooting stars –

I stare at this face
halfway expecting a caress
although all that is left now is emptiness

An open, empty field
where our time was often passed
in a building now torn down –
nothing is meant to last

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Where I am heading there’s no light –
you brought that with you too;
it rested in your golden hair
and when you aren’t with me here
I’m left in darkness and despair.

Where I am heading there’s no sight
to thrill me (how compare to you?),
no smile can match the one you’d wear,
no happiness the one we’d share;
no, nothing’s worth the half of care.

Where am I heading off to, Light –
far-off I can still see your hue –
where am I heading off to, where
find rest when everywhere
without you nothing stirs except despair.

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I Remember

Yes, I remember
but if nothing had hurt
there would’ve been nothing to remember –
just the same
dreary, empty days I forget –
repetitive chores I forget –
an endless cycle of regret

If nothing had hurt
I wouldn’t have remembered
the day you left –
but it disturbed the pattern
of the eternal cycle
so for a moment
I awoke to find myself

If it hadn’t hurt
I would’ve remembered nothing
except the same old
daily humdrum –
which I don’t remember
but rather reconstruct
since I remember nothing

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Spring Coronet II

The light has faded over our days of victory
and in my hands I hold the only remnant left to see:
My well-beloved, faded Spring-coronet
wrought with loving hands by someone dear,
and placed on my head with a joy so sheer
on the day we danced. Oh, sweet flowerets!

My hands grasp it tightly, then suddenly let go
and watch as the coronet above the world flows,
then I lay myself down in the grass
and breathe a breath of pain, then of relief,
at last relieved of hope, fear, happiness and grief,
and in the church they light the candles for the
midnight mass.

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Insel des Einzelgänger 1.

Monologue: Where I Stand Now.

“I walk alone, remember not
a time when this was not my lot;
I walk alone, my melody
the roaring of surrounding sea;
I walk alone, my song is this,
be left alone my only wish.”

“I am a loner, this is true,
supported by the rain and dew,
by wind and sea, by summer rain
that makes me sprout with this year’s grain.”

“A voice, a voice in distance heard,
it says my name; speaks dreadful words;
but should I heed it’s message, take
for granted this prophecy I hear,
or hope that none of what I fear
shall ever cause me to awake?”

The day shall come when you whose ship
with arrogance parts currents now
shall either be deluged or be
just swept away; revenge of the sea –
slowly perhaps, or perhaps fast
you shall be gone; you cannot last.

She walked along the street, singing,
heard nobody else speaking and heeded nobody’s greetings:

“Such a weather as today,
such a day!
All I wish is to be swept away!

My native ocean
where are you now?
Where are the waves
where do you flow?
Where is my ship (if it still is)?
Carry me off
to the horizon
where I glimpse in the far-off distance

some summits I can’t recognize.

I shall explore and I shall find.

At least I’ll try and should the wind
Impertinent carry me off
away off course

way into distant unknown lands
then what?

As long as I’m alone as long as I am free

I shall not care what I shall get to see.

Where is my ship
– it’s silver keel,
it’s silky sails
full with the wind,
let’s go tomorrow is too late,

I feel a sense of haste
I know not why,
I have to go, I have to run, I am compelled –
I know not why.”

But still she waited, slowed her speed, stood still
awaiting someone who wasn’t coming –

“I want to travel, travel far away
tomorrow is too late –
but not alone,”

awaiting answer she went quiet, but no answer came

“I want to travel, travel, travel
onwards, finding
new horizons
beyond the constraints of the map
but not alone?

I need someone, someone who will
accompany my search –
I cannot go alone then I might just
as well stay here –
oh, what’s the use – when no-one cares?”

“Loneliness is
an empty hand – another hand that slips
out of your grasp,
and disappears –

Loneliness is
the distance separating hearts,
the veil that covers scars
and silence in itself –

Loneliness is
the emptiness dispersing when
two hearts are in accord,
but comes to choke you when
nobody’s there to see you –

Loneliness is
not finding reason to cry,
since no one hears or cares –
and never crying means never to care –”

“As in the grass I rested on the dike,
I never felt alone, not for a second –
I was alone, but people near,
I heard their voices, knew their presence,
so I didn’t care I was alone.

I knew when I no longer wanted solitude
I had the option to go and join their games –
not having the option makes the difference,
that’s what makes you feel alone.”

“Back on my island, proudly in the sea
protruding, stretching up to meet the sun
defying waves and tide with constancy
(seemingly), there I never felt alone.
I was a part of all, and all a part of me –
the island and the sea and me a part of all,
the sky, the sea that joined at the horizon
was all the world, and I could hear the hum
of life in every movement around me –
and all was part of me, and I was part of all
and loneliness was not an option, not a thought
that I could think – I did not know of it,
for I was all and all was me –
and all I heard the sound of sea
of wind of seabirds; quite a symphony
was played for me each day, and I was free,
alive and whole; ALONE, but never lonely.”

“But here – this cold, unfeeling place
where nature cannot show its face
and no one cries and no one cares –
the rhythm is a curse, it’s not a cure –
and loneliness the symptom of disease,
you cannot be alone, but can be lonely
among these crowds of people – that’s the irony!
No, for companion give me clouds and sea –
and give me sky and sun and rustling grass,
and when I watch the fishing boats return
I shall forget that I’m alone, and then again
I’ll just be me, a part of all and all a part of me –
an entity in its own right, facing the sea –”

“Loneliness is the eyes that wander,
never meeting yours.
Loneliness the voice that staggers
to find footing
but is never heard.
Loneliness the sound of people passing
without stopping.
Loneliness is watching people live,
but not feeling alive yourself.

Lonely –
the condition forced upon you
by yourself,
by not living the way you wish (but
not knowing what it is you wish), and
therefore slowly corroding
your happiness, by living
a life without life – loneliness
is the symptom of a disease
which disappears the instant
you are actually ALONE.”

“I left my island, left behind
the place
how unwise –

now I’m left in a no-man’s-land
marooned in crowds –

I’ve been deluded, been deceived,
I thought myself free, but in reality
I haven’t been myself since leaving home,
I want my island…

(where’s my ship gone off to?)

but now I know that I cannot return alone,
the time has passed,
and I have changed beyond bounds –
I used to be at peace
but after meeting people I
have lost trace of
my starting point, my sails are hanging down
empty of the breeze that carried me here…

my island!
how I long for you!
but can you
accept it if I bring
somebody else to see you?

my island! part of me, and I a part of all…

can I accept
the necessity
of showing you off to an outsider’s eyes,
the disbelieving, disapproving gaze
of someone unacquainted with our vows?

and who would sail with me?
who’d risk the trip aboard my ship

(if I can find it)

other than myself? who would, and why?

I never should have left my island,
never should have boarded ship,
I never should have set my sails
at any other destination,
now I have become what I’ve become
and what I am, no longer me…

can I go home – I cannot go alone –
who will accompany me on the trip…?

with what intentions, what designs –
and what transpire then when we arrive…?”

“The prophecy came true, the one
I heard of spoken as a child –
strange rumors, that I for one
not used to heed, but now…”

The prophecy came true, I didn’t know
I’d met it till too late and I was stuck,
the prophecy – the unclear wording, metaphorically
has trapped me unknowingly, and I do not know now
how to escape – for who would follow me?
My self’s been whisked away and I cannot return alone,
nor find my ship unless someone should vow to
follow me –
I am marooned in other words –
I never shall be free.”

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Insel des Einzelgänger 2.

Inner Monologue: What I’d Have Liked to Say if I Could


I. Times Pass

Dreamy eyes, lost in the mist
of times, where did you go?
The moon is out, it’s time to dream
but something stopped the flow
of dreams, it dried out long ago.

Will it recover over time
and re-open the submerged gates
to make the waters flow
downstream to unearthly dwellings
where they used to go?


II. Pantanal

Pantanal –
so like my physical being,
a place where giant waterlily leaves
rise from the depths
to protect the hidden secrets
of the waters
and if you wish to know the truth
you must look deeper, look beyond
the visible self
and reach the watersource
far far away
in the mountains
where the dreams
can finally
reach into the clouds
and turn to rain
like the tears
of a being long lost
in the mist


III. Upstream

Now I float towards
the end of the line
of goals reached or lost
when I abandoned the flow
to swim upstream
looking for answers
to unspoken words,
for words to heal
what silence hurt
long ago
when I was composed
of nothing but mind


V. Hunger

I am hungry for this feeling
projected from your hands,
will you quench my thirst
with the waters in your heart –
I am addicted
to the never-ending search
for something indescribable
which I feel
in the vibe
of electricity from your eyes –
you, strange being
with questions fully unfurled
how did you manage to
enter my world?


VI. Sanctuary

a place for me
to rejuvenate my energy
when the load is heavy
and the world seems inane –
I find a sanctuary
from all the dreary
hidden underneath your skin
and in your healing hands
when the sands of time
grind to a halt
and all I hear
comes from within your breast;
the sound of a lonely bird
looking for its nest


VII. The Hidden

sometimes in dreams
I follow the stream
of your inner river
searching for its source
but I fear maybe it’s hidden
in the clouds
just like your head
where I can never reach
and thus your secrets remain
hidden to me in your
veil of shadows
and starry eyes
and yet I keep searching
for the hidden source
that you will never let me find
eventually blinded by despair
over this restless search
leading nowhere


VIII. In the Lee of Dreams

softly resting
in the lee of dreams
where nothing can reach
except for a thought
invisible, wrapped up
in metaphors
of beautiful things
you think you want
but truly on your mind
in the lee of dreams
you can only think
of following the stream
that leads
to a closed heart


IX. Dimensions

I want to rest
my hand on your chest
to sink into the dimension
where dreams seem more real
than reality
while darkness swallows
our fragile forms
and we vanish
like dew in the sun,
forgotten in bliss
on the wings of
semi-conscious sleep


X. Non-being

invisible and secret
fill the void
of nothingness
where worlds meet
and the thin screen
of impossible dreams
is ripped apart

there is a sense
of yielding strength
in your non-being


XI. Emerge

darkness descends
upon a soul
filled with secrets untold
retracting whenever
swimming to safer waters

like a creature from a dream
you emerge
from your darkness
in your search
for the lightness of being
you so greatly miss


XII. Blue Screens

the flame
to the dewdrops
and a veil of mist
a smokescreen
hiding the mind
will separate
you from me
till our eyes are freed
and we can see again
just long enough
to realize
our disguise
of desires
on blue screens
when the world dreams


XIII. Yonder

when did you
see the wonder
in the hidden
the broken
the infinite borderline
where bells can’t ring
and birds don’t sing
when the rain
falls on the soul
and the secrets
of the boldest mind
will come to light –
a lightning storm
will sweep across the empty room
of eternity –
infinity broken
the doors to the unseen
the unknown
in-between realities
shatter like glass
when you lift your voice
in praise
in silence


XIV. Ivory

“In the mirror she sees a face;
ivory carved to a perfect shape,
twin pools of swirling water
translucent, bottomless pits of melancholic
wisdom from a time long forgotten

On the heart imprinted a mark
in contrast to the exterior stark,
it clouds her eyes when waves rise
and the ivory sculpture melts
to reveal the broken dam beneath her shell

You, fragile dualistic goddess of melancholy;
stonefaced, hidden in your cloak of irony,
there’s so much hidden in your eyes
pointed down though upwards you strive
in your glittering icicle disguise.”


XV. Evasive

Oh, you evaded me
mysterious dream;
you lured me with your silent chant
of what might be,
but you deluded me
led me to believe
that the dream was real
and reality a dream,
and when the dream evaporated
and evaded me,
reality stunned me
and caught me with its solitude;
why did you leave me,
how could you disappear
like a black cat in the darkness –
your illusions have vanished,
are invisible to my eyes –
in your failed attempt at setting me free
you left me wounded and powerless,
dodging your shadow


XVI. Conclusion

“What does it matter now?
The past is fixed, it cannot be perfected anyhow.
I’m heading home through winter storms
and spring rain and the summer’s heat
and autumn’s steadily falling leaves –
whichever way I want it there’s just that one way to go;
my island is at hand and yet it’s never within reach –
I’m standing at the mainland shore and spying for my native beach,
it’s waiting for me out there, this I know;
but how to get there – how to get there after all this time?
And even if I got there I am no longer the same.
What does it matter? Nothing matters now –
before the sea that separates us we’re all bound to bow.”

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A Writer’s Plight – 1

I do not know until this day
whether I was awake or dreamt
and never before did I say
these things; for I was too ashamed

What happened was that once I went
through cooling air an early morn
out with the trivial intent
to visit someone I hadn’t seen for long

I reached his door and then I’d ring
the bell, but I got no response
I waited long but for nothing
and then I had this dreadful hunch

I opened the door, called out his name
but the house remained in silence.
I searched the rooms, it was in vain –
then I sensed somebody’s presence

Into the living room I saw
and this moment I shall never forget
for as I opened up the door
I saw a sight of awful dread

He was at home, but he was not
within his usual human shape
what I beheld that day, with shock,
had over it a table cover draped

Somehow he was turned to a rock
of massive granite, to this day
I cannot say through all my shock
how I approached the sad display

I rested my hands upon the stone
and yet again called out his name
never have I felt so alone
never did my voice seem so in vain

But then the stone began to speak
to me, and yes, it had his voice
although the tone had become bleak
to match the terrible words of choice:

”This is a curse”, he said to me,
rock trembling beneath my hand,
”but there is a way you can set me free,
please help me return to the shape of man.”

I asked him what it was that I
could do to help him out of there
and once again come back to live
to breathe again the refreshing air

He guided me, and all I did
was following his instructions
I merely did whatever he said in,
I thought, an act of compassion

First I removed the table cover
and beheld the rock in entirety
then I took a pencil, and all over
the surface I wrote repeatedly –

his name, again and again and again
repeated all over the rock surface
and as I wrote I saw, first faint,
how the shape began to be replaced

But not with flesh and blood, oh no,
something must’ve gone wrong for me
for what I now began to see
was nothing like what I’d expected to:

His voice went silent and the rock
with strong and powerful tremors shook
began transforming, and with shock
I now held in my hands a book

The title was his name I saw
and when I dared to open it
I startled then i shock and awe
when seeing what it did emit

It was the story of his life,
his face hovered over the pages
I had not turned him back to life
but made him undead for ages

I held the book, cried out my pain
but no-one heard and no-one cared
my howling disappeared in vain
and since that time I haven’t dared

to shed a tear for him or me
for any way I turn the subject
it’s all my fault, for it was me
who made him an inanimate object

Maybe it wasn’t my intent
but it doesn’t matter anymore
as over my old desk I’m bent
I ponder wounds remaining sore

Was it a blessing or a curse
what happened to him on that day?
I carried him home in my purse
and on my shelf he’s on display

I could not bear to leave him be
(though it might have seemed right to do)
in some cold, distant library
cold-hearted people passes through

I keep him on my shelf to see
I keep him as a stark reminder
that though my intent was him to free
rather I became a murderer

He’s still alive and present here
but only in bookform today
and in due time I suppose and fear
that he too will succumb to decay

But until that day he has an existence
beyond the borders of life and death
where, even though I feel his presence
I can’t feel Him, and to his voice I’m deaf

Undead, forgotten and locked inside
a book cabinet drenched in tears
is now the person who once inspired
such great hopes and such great fears

Not dead but certainly not alive
not lost but long forgotten
the fault wasn’t his, it is all mine,
and alone now I carry its burden

Be careful of what you write, and of
when and where you use your pen
writing is remarkably tough
and you might very well regret your end

Be careful whose name you put to print
and of whose voice you should detail;
you might do harm without intent
so do be careful to prevail

My friend now rests not in a grave
but high upon my cabinet’s shelf
if you don’t want yours to share his fate
then keep your writings to yourself

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New Poem: “Heartfelt Questions”

you are the reason for my mood;
you, who once cut through my solitude
and ought again to come and cut through –
but do it just in dreams – oh, you –

I dreamt of you again last night,
dreamt that you disappeared or died;
I saw a lightning strike close by,
skywards I screamed out: “Why? Oh, why?”

Upon awaking, all I knew
was that in dreams I lose you too;
you can’t be kept – I shouldn’t try;
there is no trap from which you wouldn’t fly

But when I see your smile, asleep,
arise from a memory buried deep
nothing can still my overwhelming solitude
and I scream within the dream:
“Why, Nykteri? Why you?”

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The Streetlight

You stood there, lonely shadow
cast you on the pavement,
the streetlight lit your hair on fire,
I stood in the shade, admired
how your breath escaped your lips
in clouds of damp heartbreaks

I stand under the golden light
alone after your sudden flight,
the melting snow reflects
what remains of the streetlight’s glow
after you stole the most of it
with your escape

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Whereto Aim the Rays of Love

And whereto aim the rays of love
when the original aim is lost;

I love, and with the love I hoped
but hope is weak where there’s no trust.

Should I agree to let you go?
Should I believe you
when you say that you’ve found happiness
with someone else?
Don’t we both know that someone else
could never know you like I do?

I cannot change my aim at will;
it’s you, and it remains so still.

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New Poem: “The Weight of Love”

I am heavier than other people
as if someone tied weights around my ankles –
I think heavy thoughts that I cannot lighten.

I live my life as if I am constantly
being driven into a lake
and dragged down by my own weight.

She was sitting on my desk – smiling shyly and looking down at her feet – dressed in nothing but a veil –
But that was a dream.

I was walking through a field of ripe corn cobs – I picked a few and roasted them with butter over a bonfire –
But that was a dream.

She came walking through the field – she smiled at me – her hair and skin were a lovely warm bronze like the earth –
But that was a dream.

Her hand slipped from mine as she danced out onto the ice as graceful as a figure skater – but without the skates –
But that was a dream.

A lightning struck close by – and she disappeared – and I looked for traces of her everywhere and never found a thing –
Not a dream – just a metaphor.

I would rather dream again.

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New Poem: “Where Are My Sunsets?”

Where are my sunrises?
Where are my sunsets?
Where are my days?
An endless night
has taken their place.

Where are all my colours?
Where is all the music?
Colourless it fades.
A blurry image of a world
now passes by – abates.

Where are my sunsets?
There’s no sun to make them.
A distant globe in the sky
whose cold light retreats
is all that shines up high.

Where did you go?
Why did you go?
What of my sunsets?
How will I ever know?

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New Poem: “Hellfire”

You fired me with love, set me ablaze
In a slow-burning, everlasting craze

And then you fled, forgetting in your speed
to give me remedies against the heat

And I burned up, yet kept on burning
overcome with such deep yearning

for your eyes, your smile, your… all!
How could I so deeply fall?

Now consumed with fire, I can tell:
This love is the only existing Hell!