murban-voices

Enjoy the small things, they said.
So I went to the local Mini Market. To buy some fruits and wine.
There I saw your arms, strong, muscular, tanned.

There was nothing more than a friendly and timid smile. And a Hello.
I smiled back. Hello.

It went on like this. Everytime I came for buying just small things.
Once you passed me in the aisle. From behind. There was not much space between me and the shelves. So your hand very carefully and softly brushed my shoulder and arm and you said Sorry. So I stepped aside. But this soft, careful touch of yours, gently, as if you’re stroking my arm like a feather while still trying to feel the smooth texture of my skin with every fingertip of yours, it gave me the bumps.

This is the way I want to be looked at. This is the way I want to be touched.

When you finally took your courage to talk to me, I was surprised.
You tried to look brave, manly, self-assured. But I could see through your boyish facade.
You were as nervous as me. Trying to impress. I liked that.

But still I got scared and never visited your shop again until the day of my departure. You had touched something inside me that I’d thought lost, or that I had deliberately buried deep inside. And unleashing it kind of freaked me out.

So I’d subconsciously decided to cherish the small things.
That shy smile. That soft touch. That over-compensating behaviour of yours, trying to impress me, though, not really knowing what to say. Soft and clumsy at the same time.
I enjoyed every little second. Even if nothing ever happened. Not more than that.

The only thing I was pretty sure of was, that this little smile and the shy hellos we gave each other at that point, meant the world to both of us. To you, because perhaps the tourists never usually see you, with kindness, you, the shop assistant. And to me, because I am not used to be seen, as I am not pretty. It restored something inside me, though, a wound that needed mending. If I would have been brave enough, I would have hugged you good bye. Just for this little gift of being seen, as a woman, and touched, like a treasure.

Thanks.

a brighter visit
a lighter time of year
and points of transition

i am counting stars within the celestial body of urban stratospheres
a smokey bar again, with crazy reflections of the past on the walls
and handicraft instructions for a brighter future
projected onto the ceiling
chin up, girl!

walking the same old roads
brushing away memories
that’s not me anymore
that was someone who barely felt
her feet touching the ground
this time it’s different
i’m focussed
determined
now i know
where
i am

the old familiar new
a destination without pressure
a love without a lover
devotion to the profane
the simplicity of a silent afternoon
between photographs
reflecting on a life
already in 3D

and the passion for stories
written by life
no drama
no more

i’ve taken life apart in order to see
the substance between the pieces
that keeps it together
the bigger picture

it ain’t the frame
it ain’t the content
it’s just the way
you decide to
look at it

the layers are many
the deconstruction
infinite

but in the end
it’s just a matter
of perspective

(Thanks to Alfons Schilling and Westlicht Gallery for inspiration. /
Thanks to Vroni, Lisa, Ahi, Christina, Sigi and Gertud
for being an irpiring constant in my life)

a patterned old tile floor in a smokey bar
where once the alley cats
used to walk upon

to sounds of songs we liked when young
we fill the air with chinwag
and laughter

gossiping about the good old days
when promise lay ahead of us
the promise of endless possibilities

i see your love and affection for each other
in your eyes and smiles and way of talking
and i’m sitting there, more than grateful
for the time and thoughts we share

or the other day when we were sitting in another place, pondering
on the meaning of togetherness, love and longing
intangible abstractions, like a painting
by Georgia O’Keefe

and the moment we discern that love
lies in the present
no matter with whom
you share it
and what
for

loneliness, the only constant in life
dreaded but needed
to inspire opus
like incense

the lonely artist finds her voice only
within the realm of madness
her true muse

a cold wind shaking my bones reminds my heart of its frozen state
ready to build walls against the next inevitable injury
but what would be an open heart
without bleeding?

it is better to love, i’m infering though
to be in love with the impossible
than not to love at all
as true love can only
be accessed through
severe pain

resistance is futile
i’m pain, i’m love
thank you

„Take your broken heart, make it into art.“ – R.I.P Carrie Fisher

‚this time, it’s going to be different‘
you thought
but you forgot to lay off the burden
of the past
‚this time i will find myself in the reflection of your eyes‘
was the intention
so well-meant
and so futile

nothing is going to be different
unless you change yourself
the way you think and act
is what makes things
become different 

believe in yourself , trust your guts
never compromise yourself to the lesser evil
love yourself, cherish life and never accept to be just seen a little
as complexity is what makes all of us and it wishes to be acknowledged and worshipped

a new year’s resolution, thus:
i promise to listen to the voice of the goddess inside me
i promise to listen to the divine wisdom of others
i promise to be love

 happy 2016 !!

********
Sea roses and frogs, and tree trunks in the sun
while you’re dropping biblical allusions
and we’re both are making fun
of life’s confusions

hastily, filling these blanks of this „getting-to-know“
like old friends, who’ve just met
and maybe that is why
YOU SEE STRAIGHT THROUGH ME

******************

I’m an open book, while you’re building walls
impregnable
except for the rare moments when your eyes blink
with desire
AND I SEE STRAIGHT THROUGH YOU

*******************

you help me unravel the mystery
of self-deceptions
and easily
words are floating through the hot summer air
like dragon flies ….

With you I can stop telling fairy tales
no frogs left in this pond worth picking
you’re pointing at them, reminding me, asking:
„How many of them have you been kissing?“

And after seeing that sparkle in your eyes again, I admit:

„I am a passionate frog-kisser!“

But whatever I kiss,
in the end it is always myself that I find within the reflection of the pond.
I’m imperfect.
I’m shattered.
I’m naive.
AND YOU SEE STRAIGHT THROUGH ME.

****************************

Nothing ever brought me closer to the pain of knowing
who I am
than sitting at this pond together with you
counting frogs
when all I wanted to say was „I love you“
at the wrong point in time.

this is a tale of a dark forest
and the time back in the days

when the invisible touch of the night
came closer to a heart of longing
with a sigh and the sweet breath
of a lover deeply mourning

she took her basket and went out
under the fool moon, under cold green light
she lost her way and whereabout
her destination out of sight

the creepy sounds of crackles and screeches
the coldness of a nocturnal wood
soaked through her scarlet hood
when mister lupus came along, on a stroll

she could not quite make out his shadowy silhouette
when he streched out his paws to catch her
and she sunk, oh she sunk, with a fainting pirouette
into his arms and on his hairy chest

they boozed the wine
they ate the cake
and made the shore of grandma’s lake
besides the frogs, a lover’s shrine

where princes never will be kissed
where only lupus fervently hissed

„oh little scarlet girl, you’re mine,
i had the cake, i had the wine,
but the taste of yours is what i cherish,
your innocence i will make perish!“

and little scarlet moaned and giggled
took off her stockings, and the red cape too
lupus, while with his bushy tail he wiggled
howled into the nightly silence: „woohoo woohoo!“

 (spring 2009 / rework: 2015)

when love ends, it does not end
it keeps floating endlessly, still
it is just a relationship that ends
or an illusion, also named projection
of one’s own desires
unto the other

when love ends, it never ends
it keeps driving us mad
what we have to bury
is our childish wish
to find oneself
in the other

love is endless
what is limited is our dreams
if we fail to live them

what has to end is the lies we tell ourselves
the fairy tales that we make up about ourselves
the realtionships we are unable to live

love begins as a tiny blossom
within the centre of ourselves
and if we can’t let it grow
within our own hearts
to nurture our souls
we’ll remain unable
to carry it outside
into this world
to the other

Distance
is a long walk in the sunshine
that takes you away from familiar terrain
and familiar heartaches
Distance
seeks the unfamiliar
that is new to your heart
but unconsciously known

bridging the gap
is taking rocks and tools
into your own hands
to build solid paths
through wilderness

in a dream I saw a statue of Mary
made of stone, in a forest
and she saved me
from an endless journey
of longing
I met her again
years later

Dreams come true!

A kiss is an endless poem
that fills the air with words
outwith space and time
two mouths speaking together
in rhymes of patience
in stanzas of devotion

Transience loses its relevance
in the here and now
and the only thing that matters
is sincerity … and faith!

my lips sweet and moist from purple wine i am staggering past the statues of bacchus and exaggerated monuments of glory. travelling alone, all by myself, but always in good company, my feet sore from walking on the grounds of historical places that make me feel like travelling in time. renaissance palazzi that remind me of cyrano’s poems and medieval churches where i feel the presence of Mary, the goddess of the tuscan hills, spilling her fertile blessings on the soil. and i feel the presence of her Son’s love to the people. and the powerful words of his Father, within the silence of the tombs.

and i am beginning to think of my own mother. the woman who gave birth to me. and i think of all the times when we did not understand each other. and i think of all the times we argued, tried to hurt each other, with words, so powerful. but has not God given us words to reconcile? and has He not given us the power of language to pray? so, i take the flame and light another candle.

mum, i went to all the places you been.
asking people i did not know to take a picture
i was searching for something we have in common
in the past and in the future
life is short, mum
i love you