The infant opened his eyes and asked the sky:
who are you mother?
tell me if I am like you.
The sky kept silent and the child started to cry.
turn your face to the woods, my child.
do you see that tree struck by lightning?
How could he keep inside himself the fire and the light?
How many years did it take until he fell broken in two?
how much love, how much beauty, how much truth, how much sorrow?
The child began to cry louder.
Mother, I miss you, tell me where I can find you.
Shut up, my child.
Look over the chimney, what do you see?
The child saw the whitish trail of smoke rising slowly in the air.
At the end of that frolic twist of smoke, there were three stars.
Then two. Then one.
The child covered his eyes and ran inside the house.
Old and frail, the child looks towards the three stars once more
and smiles: and you, my son, you too are like me.
it had been a chessboard
and nothing else
from plain cardboard and perfect squares
it stood upon the bookcase in the living room
after the old man died
no one knew where else it was
only the little girl writing neverending stories
– grabby man, why do you have such empty eyes?
– it is not true child
look deep and you will see
crystal fish beneath the well’s gravel
where neither thieves’ hoe sliced
nor master’s bucket stole
– man you are like thistle’s flower
no one tastes you
apart from grizzled goats
– the sun is blinding you my child
otherwise you would have known
that I made a vow long ago
to grow upon a land that doesn’t tremble
forever on the tongue of truth
to keep silent
until the stars will fall down
all under my temples
until the fools will forget laughter and crying
you will hold my hand
a branch bowing in the wind
with a knife made of bone
you will cut me at sunrise
Someone was dragging an iron ball behind his right foot. Someone else was looking at him measuring the length of his pace and the speed of his movements. Another one was combining the figures like a mathematician. Another one was explaining those numbers illogically. The last one was inventing new theories about all of them.
Somewhere else a trumpet was blowing.
„Say it’s only a paper moon
Sailing over a cardboard sea
But it wouldn’t be make believe
If you believed in me”
Life is never what it seems to be
I was sixteen and I couldn’t agree –
So quickly twenty years just flew away
So disappointed I woke up one day,
Dusty old dreams needed a cleaning
When I understood a deeper meaning –
A strong belief can reach the mountain’s roof,
It’s useless to search for another proof.
We’re responsible for what we think
Even when our hopes begin to sink –
Since then, under any kind of weather,
Truth and beauty always stayed together.