zwölf grenzen der welt
sechs hände die dich halten
ein grund.
hier kann das wesen sich zusammenkauern, an der festen wand
ein lautes weinen in der stille, das einzig hörbare
wie ein diamant in der asche
zerschneidend klar
plötzlich so viel platz für arme und beine
eine große berührungslosigkeit, allein
eine regelmäßigkeit, ordnung
und hier stößt kein menschenmassenmonster ins unbekannte dunkel.

entlang der kanäle so viele dieser räume
und ein ertrinkender schmerz, die wellen schreien gegen die wände
zwängen sich weiter wogend durch rinnen
die nicht bersten wollen, die kammern nicht fluten.

Verblutend sah sie das Gesicht ihres sterbenden Kindes,
sackte zur Seite, wurde still,
wie wir, die wir nun weiter marschierten.

In diesem Vorort nahmen wir mit
dem Besuch einer Taufe unseren Anfang.
Dieser Tradition, diesem Ritual bin ich verfallen.

Rot war der Ruhm, den die Stadt uns gab, laut war unsere Ehre.
Unsere schreienden Opfer gaben uns beides,
denn mit ihnen bedeckten wir unsere Gesichter.

Wir ließen euch dursten,
und gossen das Wasser vor euch in den Wüstensand,
nur um den Blick in euren Augen zu sehen.

Wir fütterten euch mit faulendem Fleisch,
immer und immer wieder.
Doch sterben konntet ihr immernoch nicht.

Endlich schleiften wir die geschundenen Körper
in eure große Kathedrale, euer Heiligtum,
in dem war Hochzeit, letzte Hochzeit.

Im Mittelschiff stellten wir schwere Holzkreuze an die Säulen,
an die wir, einander gegenüber, die Liebenden schlugen.
Sie sollten einander während der Läuterung sehen.

Zwischen ihnen spießten wir auf Pfählen die Körper toter Kinder auf,
entzündeten sie, und ihr Geruch, ihr Qualm waberte über den Boden,
füllte die Halle mit schalem Licht.

Amputationen am lebenden Körper,
während man einander zusehen muss.

Brennendes Holz,
Glut die unter die Fingernägel getrHieben wird.

Das betrachten der eigenen Gedärme,
die um den Hals gewickelt die Luft abschnüren.

Die dumpfen Laute, die unter den Trümmern hervordringen,
wenn niemand außer uns diese Stadt noch verlassen wird.

Eine Generation blutet das Fleisch der nächsten,
foltert ihre Kinder, quält ihre Erben zum Wahnsinn,
und stellt so den Fortbestand ihrer Kultur sicher.

Es bricht unser Herz,
aber wir fühlen uns einsam und schwach
in dieser dunklen, kalten Welt.

Der Traum von einer besseren Welt schmeckt wie Asche
in meinem Herzen. Mutter - vergib all unseren Hass,
nimm unser Leben wieder von uns, tilge unsere Erinnerung.

Endlich tritt im Sonnenuntergang neben den Tränen aus der gähnenden,
wortlosen Leere die Frage hervor: "Und wozu all das?".
Und darum ringen wir ein Leben lang.

Free yourself from your innermost chains,
and let the wild, free craze come alive.
Let the animal inside revive,
go further, seek - and strive.

Oh - and I want you to know,
that you can also dance in the rain,
in the forest at night,
and in the snow.

Tell me, what your hands where made for,
and to another room open the door.
Another dream, death, silent scream.
Go my friend, and dance to redeem.

Welcome, and if you're still alive,
into another well of darkness dive.
Dance along the starlit street,
and another door you'll meet.

Tell me, what your heart was made for,
and where you've found your freedoms ore.
.. I knew you'd leave me speechless once.

Sometimes I'm nothing more but a small child.
Sometimes I'm small and vulnerable.
Sometimes I even wonder if feelings are misplaced on earth.
Please, let me never forget the things that have been warm and cosy in my live.
I need them, for they are the bones of my god.
I need these bones, for they show me where I come from.
From these bones of god, I make my key to escape hell.
I've always been making this key - hope I got all the parts..
Sometimes I'm nothing more but a dreamer.
Sometimes I contradict myself, cracking hearts with my clumsy feet.
Sometimes I even wonder if we're made to take care of each other.

Sometimes we're all just small eccentric kids knowing what dreams are worth.
Sometimes all that I crave for is telling my friends about the happyness I receive from them.
I want to show people, what they mean to me.
I don't want to force them to be friends.
But I'd just be glad if they'd understand each other better.
Show me their differences, show me their strength.

I'm easily hurt.
I'm a dreamer and a little poet.
Sometimes I smile and my eyes might tell you a story of true happiness.
Sometimes you're my reason to be happy, each and everyone of you is my fortune.

Oh, and I feel like I can't write anymore ^^
Besides that and being still a little ill, I have a good time :P

Und dann finde ich keine Worte mehr um weiter zu schreiben,
nachdem Tschernobyl 24 Jahre her ist. Dabei würde man annehmen, dass es immer leichter würde, davon zu lernen. Oder geht es dabei nur um das Vergessen?

The snow in my heart fell day by day,
till my innocence you've taken away
- so let me tell you a story,
try to understand, reach me your hand,
if you're another stranger in a strangers land.

Sometimes,
old dreams are made to be burried.
Something has to become the seeds
of a newer world.
So when I'm filled with old dreams and thoughts,
come in, into my head,
and meet another poets dead.

Burrying old dreams - it's best done with lovers and friends.
Holding each other in their bleeding hands,
they face the night that made them fright
Take your time, face your night, dance at dawn.
Dance at dawn, in the golden fields of corn.
You've just found another roses thorn,
have to free it in your silent moan.

Pleasure and pain are of the same
both like to dance in the rain,
want to be free of their stain.

It feels like something very big,
to lie in tears and broken,
having someone to hold you.
Even bigger is the feeling of being understood.

Describing the night is needed for the dance,
the dance has to free of the devils that remain.
It's about getting your mind ready for another round,
dreaming it together, not to be afraid, not to be alone,
in this strange land - we have to understand.

We'll need that firepit of our innocent youth,
where there've been deamons waiting for us.
Sitting down, holding each others hands,
arms outstretched over each others shoulders.
We have to bring rugs, for even if the fire will be hot at time,
we need to protect our selfs with the same covers.

Sit together to heal your common longings,
you are broken pieces of the same diamond,
made to reflect and break the light in your very special way.

The deamons on the firepit of our youth,
they know us, have allways been waiting for us here.
The longer we avoid them, the stronger they will grow.
The only present we can bring as we visit our enemies
are the broken dreams that our poor existance created.

We return here as innocent strangers,
not aware that we're about to meet the deamons that we fear so strong.
They don't even look shy, but with greed,
and we spread everything we've got in front of them.
They'd know it anyway, and something has to satisfy their hunger.
We burn it, burn the old pieces, burn the pain that we can no longer deny,
keeping the fire burning to stay warm, and keep the night away.
The warmth of our fire keeps the deamons alive,
that pray we would otherwise become easily in a dark night.
We want to be free of broken dreams that we can no longer bear,
and with our tears they fall from the sky like stars,
with a single, last glow.
Burning our old dreams, we have to learn to let go of old things.
But we will not forget, will never forget.
It's natural to get back the freedom that we need so badly in this fashion,
for it feels like we've allways done it this way.

Something invalueable fades up to the sky as a spark and dissolves slowly.
In pain and anger we dance around the fire, untill we know nothing.
Finally we scream to the stars, and peace comes to the defenseless in an unexpected fashion.

We've been sitting 'round the fireplace of our innocent youth,
dreaming in each others arms,
while we cry to the stars or howl to the moon.
Now - there's piece where void has been,
and the night is almost over.
The deamons that had forseen our steps don't know what will happen next.
They have no power anymore, your very next steps are free - choose them wisely.

The next thing that I remember was dawn.
Dawn came, and the shadows began to shrink.
It was in the fields of corn, next to the firepit,
were we would run around in circles.
The sun broke through on the horizon,
we could see a wonderfull, crooked tree in the back-light.
Out of a hunch some started dancing,
dancing in the light of a new born day, a new born hope.

.. I want to meet her at least three times:

First in late noon, for a glance at her moves,
for a last talk between strangers,
because we shan't be anymore and
for the reflection of the sun going down in her eyes.

Second for the darkness that awaits both of us during night.
For the depletion and enrichment of our selfs.
For the pain and perversion that might occur or could not be avoided ^^

Third for giving freedom to what now has captured my soul.
For letting her decide wether the sun will rise and wether hope was just a word.
For my sickness being tamed by her.

Today I like to add something:

All the Diamonds that others try to break me with turn to sand
in view of your face - I know no law higher than love, and no beauty
other than the chaos that you seed in me.

- I just feel like on a never ending journey lately,
I want to get to know someone, and there are minor things that I have to think about.