Cosmic & Uneasy

A bunch of words…

  • Gotthard

    Gotthard

    From a series of poems written during my stay in the Black Forest.

    A lit bullet
    racing through
    57 km of darkness,
    is it day or night?
    Lullaby
    20 minutes
    in the belly of mountains
    with no way out,
    I focus so hard
    on zoning out,
    children crying,
    adults frolicking
    in the aisle.
    Still Lullaby
    We’re 10 minutes in,
    so far all is good,
    my spirits are high
    as long as our pace
    keeps up.
    Oh, the faith I must have
    in the electric line.
    More Lullaby
    5 minutes till the end
    and I’m still thinking of Arth.
    It amazes me every time
    how it sits quiet on the lake,
    I’ve seen it many times,
    yet I can’t help
    picturing myself
    on that lakeshore
    spotting a train
    jetting away from the dark
    with people on it
    staring at the landscape
    enchanted just like me,
    and here it comes,
    dear daylight.
    Until next time,
    tunnel.
  • Rose Garden

    Rose Garden

    From a series of poems written during my stay in the Black Forest.

    Along Lichtentaler Allee
    lies Gönneranlage,
    a gate to bliss,
    where a gentle breeze
    lulls and caresses
    hundreds of roses,
    home to busy bees.
    Voices of men
    are drowned by the water
    of the fountain,
    keeper of silence.
    I, on a bench,
    feet in the sun,
    head in the shade,
    wonder if perhaps
    this is what heaven
    actually looks like,
    and if it is,
    I'd gladly enlist
    as one among
    the gardeners of Eden.
  • Triberg Waterfalls

    Triberg Waterfalls

    From a series of poems written during my stay in the Black Forest.

    "Stay on the path,
    danger of falling."
    Of course I obey
    and mind my steps
    on the narrow lane
    we, little humans,
    needed to pave
    to safely admire
    these grand waterfalls.
    I passed by some roots,
    sinewy and gnarled,
    massive and strong;
    had they a will,
    they could crush me
    in no time.
    Moss and ferns,
    spruces and firs,
    complete the decor.
    The elves have taste
    in silvan homes.
    As I stand small
    beneath the towering
    waterfall,
    leaves start falling,
    and their graceful dance
    awakes a nostalgia
    from far away,
    from different lives
    and an unknown place.
    My thoughts drown,
    washed by the current,
    dancing along.
  • St. Georgen Railway Station

    St. Georgen Railway Station

    From a series of poems written during my stay in the Black Forest.

    Sitting in the sun,
    sometimes shaded
    by passing clouds,
    I was busy
    killing time
    staring at the flowers,
    wild and alive,
    between the railway lines.
    All of a sudden,
    a low lone fighter
    cut through the silence
    of this absurd place,
    booming overhead.
    How would the Augurs
    have interpreted the course
    of this strange iron bird?
    I did not like it
    for it carried
    my thoughts to war.
  • Dreigestirn

    Dreigestirn

    From a series of poems written during my stay in the Black Forest.

    Whenever I fly
    over the mountains
    northbound,
    whatever viewpoint
    facing the Alps
    I find myself on,
    my eyes are always
    drawn toward
    the Three.
    Whenever I look
    up to the sky
    on winter nights,
    from whatever place
    dark enough,
    nose to the stars,
    my eyes are always
    drawn toward
    the Three.
    Thieves of my gaze.
    Alnilam shines bright,
    as the Monk shields
    the innocent Virgin
    from the merciless one.
    O Maiden,
    I pray thy dress
    remain as white
    in years to come.

  • June Relocation: Consequences

    June Relocation: Consequences

    The heat,
    the fatigue.
    My soul said no
    and folded
    into a spore,
    quiescent,
    waiting for
    quiet and cool.
    Beyond salvation,
    mental starvation,
    self‑deprivation.
    Burnout,
    burn right,
    burn left,
    burn everywhere.
    I feel too old
    for new beginnings
    in the chokehold
    of this feral sun.
    The bare minimum
    is already 
    too much.
  • Sunday

    Sunday

    I woke up all cranky,
    super grumpy,
    with pain in my neck
    and a light head.
    To rebalance myself
    I went to the park,
    the movement and the greenery
    did help a little,
    but not enough.
    My nose was itchy,
    my sinuses exploding.
    I inhaled some steam
    with essential oils in it:
    eucalyptus, peppermint,
    clary sage, rosemary,
    lavender and tea tree.
    I never fail to be amazed
    at how effective it is.
    To celebrate it,
    I wrote this poem,
    sipping thyme herbal tea.
  • Saturday

    Saturday

    I woke up with no rush
    and had a nice breakfast
    with my boyfriend.
    Kefir
    with oats and walnuts
    and dark chocolate.
    I love taking my time
    sipping my hot coffee,
    it’s the smell that gets me,
    not the caffeine.
    The sun was shining,
    we had a little walk
    and then had ravioli for lunch.
    We added cherry tomatoes
    of many hues:
    red, yellow, green,
    orange and purple.
    He cut them all in half
    and I felt a sudden urge
    to arrange them on a plate
    in a multicoloured wheel
    with mozzarella in the centre,
    shaped like a milky flower.
    The dish was finally blessed
    with a twirl of olive oil,
    pepper and oregano.
    It was so simple
    but it felt so good.
    Then I had jasmine green tea.
    I felt at peace.
  • Peonies Back Home

    Peonies Back Home

    Today my mother sent me pics
    of the peonies back home,
    because I was there at Easter
    but they were just buds.
    That bush has been there
    for as long as I remember,
    but I can’t picture myself
    as a little kid
    running and tumbling
    on that same grass,
    looking at those peonies
    a million times,
    never imagining I’d see
    those flowers on a screen
    because I missed them blooming.
    Most of the time
    I spent in that space
    I didn’t even own a phone;
    I didn’t know what it was.
    I hope, whatever happens,
    that bush can carry on.
    I’d love it to outlive us all,
    because I sense relief
    in the idea of immanence.
    I have the utmost faith
    in roots’ perseverance.
    They’ll be fine, even when we’re gone.
  • Ways

    Ways

    I used to drive to the office,
    sealed in a metal capsule,
    just another scale
    on the morning car snake,
    sliding from bubble “home”
    to bubble “work”.

    Then I shifted to public transport:
    a pinch of train, a zic of bus,
    and all the bubbles burst,
    dissolving me into humanity,
    the river of society,
    the course of destiny.

    Now I commute by bike,
    across some countryside,
    and it is wild
    how much life hides
    beyond the thresholds 
    I’ve never gone by.

    When I was rolling on the road,
    I fooled myself into believing
    I was the flawed hero
    of my micro dimension.

    When I glided fast on rails,
    I felt the reassuring absence
    of anything remarkable
    about my existence,
    one among many,
    not erased, only reframed.

    Now I pedal through the outskirts,
    crossing realities
    that tell me what herons do
    at 7 AM and 5 PM,
    how cats handle the rain
    just like I have to
    when we all end up
    under the sky's sudden moods.

    They show me which flowers bloom,
    how long they stay open
    before folding back
    and closing for the season,
    the colour of newborn leaves, 
    their parent trees
    and their silent urge
    to become green.

    The sweat I pour into effort
    is making me a friend of discomfort.
    And there’s this galvanizing freedom
    in slipping past traffic,
    enveloped in nothing
    but the atmosphere.

    Wherever I follow
    the rhythm of the world,
    cloud cover changes,
    and so does snow
    on mountain tops
    and the transparency
    of winter fog.
    But do I change along?

    Is there a place
    where human and nature
    touch without hurt?
    While I’m seeking it,
    I’m also leaving
    space within me.