Mountains Beyond Mountains*

The sun never shone
over the menacing blocks
of Berlin -- they had their
own lights inside,
so dim and weakened:
packed in the cement.
The hard edges never
really let the beams of light
to illuminate the external,
and angered by the fact;
the beams continued to
reflect from one wall to another.

This was a land of stone,
cold and hard and lifeless.
Each stone had the same look
on their faces -- solemn and judging,
reaching out to one's soul.
They screamed "Why?":
and man, what a scream it was,
so quietened by the soft hand
blocking the mouth
it had the sheer creepiness.




*Arcade Fire, Sprawl II.

Four In One

Fall

"Good, that's what I want too."
said Frederic Henry,
lowering his head
to his feet.

I guess that's what we all do. We just love to look down to our feet when we search answers. There just must be something extremely inspirational (or even philosophical) down there. Our toes tingling one another, moving in a haste, just like a boy drowning -- motion for the sake of motion. And then comes a moment where they finally stop, accepting the still and musical water into their marrows.

And I guess it is just that moment that gives us the answer. Or more questions. Or disappointment.

It's either that or we just like moving our head downward.

Spring

They say
"Seasons follow each other."
Well sorry, but this one time,
I'm planning to keep it with me.

You aren't going anywhere.
                                      Erm, --
                                           hopefully.

Keeping your head down like this; it is hard, it is tough. Thankfully, you're there to lift it up. My neck was kind of sore -- mind using your magical touch?

I mean. You're here, right?
                                     Then please close the door.
                                                                            Or don't. They can see. I don't care.

Winter

Cold and ice,
and finally --
some peace.
Oh, I'm already bored!

Now is for solitude. Now is for the vigilance of the unknown. Sun came up, went down, came back up, and went back down.

All I remember is some coffee cups and empty plates. Oh, and the noises: laughter and that sizzle the forks make on empty plates.

Those, and your hair tickling my cheeks. My breath getting lost, my face dissolving into a dark oblivion.

It can dissolve for all I care, I shall hold the vigil.

Summer

Temper is rising.
Now I look into sun's eyes,
and its rays, piercing through my lost face
boil off the questions.

My head, I suppose, is a poor bastard. Never asks questions, never gives opinions. It goes down when I want it to, and it only comes back up if that's what I want.

And I'm truly an ambivalent individual.

Poor thing, jumping to one direction from another -- just because of me. Or you?

Epilogue

"And in the end,
the love you take
is equal to the love
you make."

Seasons passed and she did not. She had it all in her. Welcome. Oh, you never left?
You never will.
                      Erm, --
                               I guess.
                                         I know.

Low Tide

He had a big fat face
which was mostly occupied
with a big fat smile.
(But only most of the time.)
His widening cheeks
and expanding lips --
looked like a threat, rather
than a welcoming smile.

He did not attract
he did not create impulse
he just smiled
and oh, man --
what a fucked up smile that was.

Look Alive, Sunshine

I hated to see her frown.
And it was not because she had
a beautiful face
that glimmered as she smiled.
But it was that I
was so selfish.
That inside myself,
deep down where
all the fears and tears lived,
something was broken
whenever she decided to
lour than grin.
And I wanted her to smile
not because for her
but for myself --
it was just better.
Way better.
So I tried to make her smile
but failed;
and the radio banged:
"See --
heaven's got a plan for you."

High Tide

In the mornings she was calm --
all cold and distant and stagnant.
Her face, as indifferent as a wall,
and she did not seem to realize
how beautiful and desirable she was
as the sunlight played tricks on her hair.
The rising sun, it seemed,
sent all the beams it had
to that dark brown mess --
jealous of the beauty more alluding than itself.

However, as the sun said goodbye,
leaving its place to the dim moon,
she rose.
And with every step sun took down,
she swelled:
bigger and bigger and bigger;
until there was none
but her own.

Now came the night
and now came her smile
and only now
her brown eyes twinkled and
sprinkled light around.
Yet, the indifference was still there.
And she damn well made sure
that she was there before you,
and will be after you.

Isolation

It is the wish

to be different from

the regular person

strolling regularly

on the regular street,

that makes us different,

and subtly

isolated. 

Heute

Und Gott macht Bier

und Hamburgers,

as der mann walked through

the Brandenburg Tor.

Der mann screamed:

"This Bier is tot,

it has no fuzz at all!

Und this Hamburger?

It is just schlecht."

Yet der mann never stopped

drinking or

eating or

asking warum or

crying to Gott.

Rain

He always loved
the pattern raindrops made
after hitting his tiny, round bedroom glass
-- of which barely let any light in
during summertime.
He loved the sound and splash
at the hitting instant.
He loved how determined,
and blunt,
and consistent the rain was.
He loved the cold
creeping up clandestinely through his biceps --
conquering each cell
on the conquest to capture the heart;
also admiring how his body
reacted spastically:
stuffing and squashing and quelling inside,
creating a wave of heat and
fighting against the cold.
He just loved sitting there,
in that little, calm room, middle of
the life and razzle and dazzle.

And although he couldn't cry,
it was not because he did not want to.
(He would cry for not being able to cry,
if weeping was an option.)
He loved how the sky did that for him,
letting out all the emotions, smothering and soaking
his pathetic soul.

The Search

As though I loved scratching my belly,

exploring the depths of my soul under the baby fat,

I always admired TV bodies.

(We all subtly do.)

Fit and tone and attractive.

And there was a gym,

where I started to ran

for that very purpose -- striving in pain,

believing sweat
is the weakness leaving my body.

However, as the sands of time dropped
from the ancient hourglass,

one by one, taking their time, 

and gods of destiny wove and plotted

what is yet to come for me,

thinking each step meticulously,

I realized that I wanted to run even more,

seeking after what made me run,

and getting away from it

with each step.

Falling In Love, #1

I loved her. I did not really now why, but it was not for her big breasts, round ass, beautiful face or lovely smile. I loved all of those as well, but those weren't what really drove me every morning through corridors and heavy doors and cold walls and shiny floors to get to her. The urge was so much deeper, and it was rather the ambiguity of its source that made it so sacred.

All I knew was that I loved her and that was enough. Yet.

Reluctant Mornings

It is either death,
or hope, or coffee,
which can help you rise --
especially in the mornings.
And the real sad thing is,
you can only make-do with the third one
for so little time and
the second one runs out too damn quickly,
making you in need for the first.