At 47.3756° north and 8.5427° east
Your white, serious-looking shirt,
partly covered by those golden waves of your hair,
clinching my arm under the umbrella
and your “No is No”.
We have come a long way
Somehow we parted,
Somehow we stayed,
It is like we weren’t destined,
but meant to remain
My soul is naked.
Tears.
You, on the sofa in Buenos Aires,
You, in climax,
Me, within.
It’s a marvel
how hearts can ache to connect
but choose,
still,
to remain apart.
We.
1…
2…
3…
Looos!
Dieses Mal muss ich gewinnen!
Du wirst mich nicht überholen…
Nicht beim Ü80-Rollator-Marathon!
Ich erinnere mich an unsere erste Begegnung,
vor etwa fünf Jahren.
Du hattest mir geholfen, mit meinem Rollator in den Zug zu steigen.
Ich dachte: “Was für ein süsser Gentleman!”
Deine grauen, feinen Haare und deine silber-blaue Krawatte
liessen meine Gedanken 60 Jahre jünger werden,
und meine Emotionen standen in Flammen!
Du hattest nach meiner Nummer gefragt,
und der Rest… war Geschichte.
Ich erinnere mich an unser erstes Date.
Hattest du damals wirklich einen Rollator,
oder hast du nur so getan,
damit wir uns auf Augenhöhe begegnen?
Wie oft bekommt eine Frau über 80 noch eine Rose?
Wir sprachen über unser langes Leben,
während wir einen unglaublich langsamen Spaziergang machten.
Ich liebe es, wie albern du sein kannst,
wie du mir zuzwinkerst.
In deinen Augenfalten sehe ich Welten,
tausend Geschichten,
die sich dort erzählen.
Ü80 bist du,
aber mit Ü800 Leben,
und Ü8000 Liebe.
Nein!
Jetzt bist du schon hinter mir im Rennen!
Ich bin mir nicht ganz sicher…
Hast du dich etwa gedopt?!
Schieeeedsrichterrrr!
Mein Mann ist ein Doperrrrr!
Du streckst mir die Zunge raus,
als du mich überholst.
Am Ende waren wir beide auf den letzten beiden Plätzen —
die grössten Loser.
Während Gebrselassie seine zweite Rollator-Marathon-Goldmedaille holt,
feierst du deinen „Erfolg“.
Deine Illusionen kennen fast kein Ende.
Aber komm, lass uns zusammen feiern.
Herr Doper,
hast du für heute Nacht eine blaue Pille?
Curiosity was the force
That drew us closer,
In your darkened room.
A ray of light sneaked through the window,
To land on half of your face.
I thanked God
For allowing me to see your lowered gaze,
I could see the cracks of your dry lips,
That I was about to moisture.
Our breaths touched before we did,
Like messengers..
I don’t see that ray of light now,
But I feel you,
Your lips
For the very first time.
I am not myself anymore,
And neither are you, you.
The two people who have just kissed,
as they were,
Are gone.
Now, there is me plus your kiss,
And you plus mine.
I 2.0 and You 2.0.
A new encounter.
A new mission.
And it was not curiosity that brought us to the second kiss.
I was on an expansion mission.
You sought confirmation.
You tilted your head slightly
This one was longer.
More energy was exchanged,
second law of thermodynamics.
or an action and a reaction:
Newton’s third law
… of intimacy.
We are now closer than ever.
Not quite the same lovers,
two kisses ago.
I liked this new “You” a bit more,
And I hoped you felt the same.
Perhaps the “Me” from the last kiss
Would align even better with you.
You silenced my thoughts with your initiative:
The third encounter.
This time, you were driven by passion.
I surrendered, to receive.
New roles in our evolving dialogue:
You, the hunter.
Me, the gazelle.
I didn’t know this Me.
Neither did you.
A spark in your eye gave your secret away,
And I stored it gently
In a drawer within my hippocampus.
The fourth kiss was mutual,
Like sharing an afternoon cake
in a Parisian bakery.
A decrescendo of tempo,
Silence,
Review of the balance.
Excuse me, dear reader—
Our imaginary observer.
I must draw the curtains now,
Lay down my pen.
For the next five kisses
Took place in heaven.
where the angels have lined
at the doors of Eden,
You said they seemed familiar;
I feared they might claim you back.
I felt an urgent need—
To seal this chapter,
To mark the moment,
one last kiss,
A full stop.
a cherry on the top,
a pinch of salt by Nusret.
Who are we now, my darling?
Ten kisses later,
And a hundred possible “Us”
Kintsugi (Japanese: 金継ぎ, lit. ‘golden joinery’), is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.
Wikipedia
My thoughts were scattered,
Among the remains of my heart.
They said it was shattered,
When our paths drifted apart.
They asked me:
“what happened?”
I sang your name,
I praised your manners.
I tried, but in vain,
to clarify these matters.
Then I told them what happened:
The fire in my heart,
That you came and lit,
Was put off at once
With no ashes left.
I was by myself,
In my darkest of moments.
Your shoulder was missing,
When I cried and wept.
So no, my friends.
I have no regret.
It wasn’t her words
Nor that what she did.
It was what was not.
This curse is much older,
She was just one bit.
I am now getting wiser
I, now, can admit.
I gathered my pieces
And welded with gold.
My cracks are my stories,
And eager to be told.
Your cracks are your secrets,
That call me to unfold.
It may once more be shattered
I may once more weld
I may never surrender
More cracks is more gold!
What if there were no tomorrow,
And our eyes would never lock,
And I never got to hug you,
No more flights left to book,
Have I not known this before?
Have I not almost lost?
All the promises that we give
Excuses not to live
Then we sail far away.
Chasing ports we cannot dock.
All we do is stall the call
But we can’t stop the clock
You, Love!
Inside the walls you’ve built,
So tight,
Impermeably sealed.
Occasionally,
you climb to take fleeting peeks at those without,
then retreat,
far and deep.
A dance: now seen, now concealed,
now claiming a heart, or two, in your sweep,
Only to abandon, unfulfilled, and unhealed.
You withdraw, timid and untouched,
into a realm where light pervades yet smothers.
What purpose do you serve, Love?
If your flame lights no path?
It merely consumes your essence, entirely.
I thought I saw you the other day.
It took me a few seconds to remember that you are no more among us. Reincarnation?
Or probably in some other dimension? Shining your timid smile in another universe. While slightly tilting your head.
Ahh, your smile, your weapon, your fishing net, a gatherer of obsessed hearts.
Yet, you departed. With this exquisite collection of trophies
Leaving a multitude of men:
Incapable of love
Her fragrance of oud, a match for her majestic elegance
But her lower eyelid, beautifully lined with kohl, like a dam holding back her tears,
on the verge of overflow,
Her radiant smile remained intact, in denial
“Have you seen one smile and cry?” she asked
That smile, though weakened by her tears, still radiated a light that outshone the sun’s rays on today’s noon
Her irises, colored like the northern lights, floated above a river of tears
I felt her pain, but never could I understand
Love and despair, an unfair pair
I knew she struggled, burdened with care
I wished to ease her pain and take it away
But all I could do was fly
P.S.: this poem was improved using ChatGPT. Neat, no?
In an early Saturday hour, it was just me and the cobblestones,
an empty old town.
One lonely goose in the river.
It is the farmers’ market today.
I bought tulips from the oldest woman.
I smelled them. I smiled. I quivered.
It was then, I thought of you.
I knew we won’t be two,
if you never show up,
if you keep on hiding in the future.
In case, we don’t fall in love forever,
and our hearts of petals keep on flying apart,
blown everywhere by the indecisive winds,
I will love the thought of you.
And while waiting for eternity,
let kindness prevail,
in our fragmented stories:
unique and unmatched
they pave our paths,
like Cobblestones!
It is probably the way she shines..
Or the way I feel she’s mine..
The little shrug with one shoulder..
Or her smile..
At the sunflowers field..
Is it the bravery with which she sees the world?
Or her kindness..
And her muffins..
I felt her joy when she told me about the stars..
Where she belongs..
I wonder, how often can I fall in love?
One more time..
From the beginning..
Blow away the dust over your heart..
And be brave..
Surrender to her beautiful moments..
Drop the calculations..
There are no maps for love..
nor destinations..
Pack for the journey..
Get rid of expectations..
and your nihilism..
and sail!
