They say it doesn't mean a thing
Because we are just mirrors
who kindly greet in return

But still, the baker knows my name
and the postman is happy
that I'm home

for the parcels
for the neighbours
Happy New Year

Looking forward, we keep heart
with good tidings, even though
they say it doesn't mean a thing

that in the rest of the year
calamities will smoke again
crimes and fear, what is normal

will get out of sight
even though you witness it every day
and that we will amuse ourselves again

with the ambulant judge to reinforce
peace with the right, and that is all
it means, they say

Once there was prosperity here
thriving trade, the coast a ribbon
of harbours full of ships

the land of the Philistines
now suffocated, enclosed
by the ghetto

There are Summer Rains
breaking our bones, the roads
and bridges, the quays and offices

The roofs of the schools
devastated, sewers shooting out
Smell where we live

Do not stand there
safe far away on the ramparts
of your paradise, watching

the fire and the iron
from heaven
Not ours

And after the rains appear
at night on the horizon
Autumn Clouds

Women are difficult
they don't want the same

as their husband, but I forge
my will red-hot

in the fire of my faith
as a divine weapon

in my obedient hand
in my grateful heart

Women are difficult
especially my daughters

They don't believe me
they don't believe in a later

honour for my actions
Silent reproaches, that's all

they dare, but have a look yourself
here it was, these

are the names
of the men, the rats

that I have eliminated
I'm really a hero

The war happened to me
the hostile people
my neighbours and family
I have to

take my loss
anyway

The dark is teaching me
to accept
that I am invulnerable
there is no need to flee

my soul is my asylum
if I kill, I kill lovingly

with a silvery shine
around my duty
which is not a mirror
of their motives

Believers give God
a portion of His abundance
not as a sacrifice, but as a person

who helps neighbours and fellow villagers
spares pack animals and allows butterflies
to flutter and who is not only sweet

to stuffed animals
but builds fountains
to water the noble horses

Unbelievers decide for themselves
whether they sell their yield
what they eat and what they share

God and greedy people too
choose themselves who benefits
what the henchmen get

for taking, and the front men
for hiding the abundance
in the heavenly clouds of Moneyland

To understand what is going on
in my belly, the tingling and tickling
of the flagella that know blindly
what I am hoping for, I dive down
in the collective unconscious

I juggle with symbols
name the gloss of the cells
soul and the cells an embodiment
of the great soul, the invisible
connection of everything, and among all

there is the mystery of the angels
who hold our essence
and carry in their hands my desire
to the nesting place
in my belly, tingling and tickling

while there are so many questions
from the angels of my mind
which are condemned as devils
by the fear of independence
of others and of yourself

questions about what is going on
and opinions, pros and cons
angels and devils, sometimes both armed
with deceit and threats, denying
that they are part of the great soul

My love is a man
he withdraws

still a child
but without parents

searching for the beginning
of a better world

an order like when
he was small, and he looks

at his hands, not as hard
as his father's

which made him feel
that sometimes you don't have a choice

and need to
but that it is seen

and rewarded, if you are strict
for others and yourself

because the cloak of discipline
can cover everything

This is my place, here
I was born and here I stayed –
tree, mountain, rock in the storm

Clouds flee
from the wind of time
but I'm steady, I know what it's like

My father cut me
and put me athwart the wind
like a ship's mast

under large sails, anchors
deep into the bottom, firm
like the Horse of Marken

     My sons are stubborn
     I have learned from it
     I must be strict

     if need be, beat my wife
     ignore what she means well
     and curtail her freedom

     for free mothers make sons free
     to think that new ideas
     sail faster than the wind

     But a man knows better
     It is the beginning of the end
     if he deson't end every beginning

Don't Waste The Well
don't grow rank between the crops

beware, everything is seen
you will be reminded

of what you manage to hide -
angels are registering

Chop what does not bear fruit
to compost for the vegetable garden

Be caring and tender
hold weeds up as an example:

beware, everyone sees it
burn or has to pay extra

which will wear out the fools
Don't eat and drink with them

also avoid the hypocrites, pray
apart from doubters and freethinkers

don't marry a believer
from another doctrine

beware, God sees everything
Don't Waste The Well

The neighbours have started
People like us
But they refuse
to be my neighbours, they smash
rockets in the school yard
I'm not afraid, I will die

That may seem bad
but it has to be so
They do the same
until we are expelled
grabbed by the neck
and thrown out

I want them to cry
for help, to wail for justice
and to beg for salvation
and I shall hear
and I shall see
and I shall remain silent

until they are dead

Amma, don't cry, I do what I need to do
Be proud and surrender, let yourself fall
into the hands of mercy

There are no disorderly heads here
On the contrary, we are beside ourselves with anger
about injustice, we are fighting in the light

of death that destroys the old world
brighter than a superstar of thousands
of suns, in which I want to melt if it falls

upon me, and Amma, it also falls upon you
like a holy sword - the wound must
bleed and let life flow away

into a new world, please surrender
and jump through the gate of the judgment
into the arms of mercy

     Boots, your size, laundry basket and soap
     each his own soap, your body
     is a temple, your hand is God's

She is crying wildly in front of us
in a nightgown, her hair tousled
Barefoot she wants to stop me

     Here, take the book, guard it
     with your life, your gun and the bullet
     belts. Exercise!

Her family is hiding, I think
Beware, before it's too late
I must... Is she coming closer?

     Headscarves, every morning
     a box of clean clothes and ammunition
     Get ready for training

Must I shoot, is it true?
Are the clean hands for others?
Forget about the mess, be proud!

     You turn in the laundry before the appeal
     That's it, the rest comes later
     We start with prayer

Which of us did it? Where
is the heavenly light, the blessing on the silence
on the debris and the blood in the sand?

We are the gate to the unseen
world for the fools who refuse
to submit, all their good deeds
are not enough, only submission counts

Our submission, our ideal not to die

in an accident or of sorrow, not for stripes
and stars on flags and shoulders, we are free-
men, we pave the way
for a better world

We have an ideal, we want to die for it

That is our sacrifice
on the altar for The Unknown
our victory
over gold money power

and death, to see The Unseen

Someone says I must cry
but what should I cry?
That grass withers and flowers
fall off, but promises remain
forever unbroken?

Don't give up
climb a high mountain and cry
to all hearts the suffering
is over, the injustice, the nails
that hit through our veins pin
us down, and the barbed wire
of segregation that separates us

Break down the blockages
level inequality and pave
a holy way in the wilderness!
cry! break the silence!

Don't Waste The Well
don't grow rank between the crops

beware, everything is seen
you will be reminded

of what you manage to hide -
angels are registering

Chop what does not bear fruit
to compost for the vegetable garden

Be caring and tender
hold weeds up as an example:

beware, everyone sees it
burn or has to pay extra

which will wear out the fools
Don't eat and drink with them

also avoid the hypocrites, pray
apart from doubters and freethinkers

don't marry a believer
from another doctrine

beware, God sees everything
Don't Waste The Well

To reign is to look into the future
to see the unity of all people
so, out of respect, the Jews
and the Christians who do not rest
on Friday, wear a yellow
red or blue headscarf, a black
and a red shoe, and

a little bell: beware, I'm coming
Kick me if I get in the way or you
feel like kicking me

because my stubbornness is too much
I only believe half and don't want to
prostrate in the proper way. Well, fall!
Get on your knees! Or should we
help? are cold eyes telling
me and I fight my tears
A dog licks them off my cheek

They say I should go
I can afford it
but the crowd is not my thing

You have to pay very much attention
and there is no time for prayer
although there are rules on it

which you can't keep
You have to buy them off
for a charity

I want to believe seriously, really
be pious, every day a pilgrim
and reflect on my deeds

be hospitable with respect
for whom I meet
as if I'm welcomed

as a stranger

In the evening the children sit
on the couch and I show them

how I, as a young man
liberated the city, with steel wire

around the necks of the men
who had confessed, including

my girl's father. Pull tight
until the head nods yes

Clean work, not a drop of blood
We copied it from a movie

which was not as real as doing it ourselves
and driving over people three times

or keeping word with a club
when someone doesn't want

to pay for his safety
Like the children I am proud

of it, but in bed I think
that not those thousand were wrong

but me, but why? Why
do the curtains always move

Why are there dead eyes staring
at me and what is written

behind them, indelibly
in heaven?

It is peaceful here
but this peace is suspicious

warns the king
Many inhabitants move

to a palace in the clouds
of Internet-land or they retreat

to a high tower, sender and receiver
of their own right, just listen

to the echoes, just listen
to my disgusting words

Yes, if only someone did listen
If only someone did listen

unsure
and loving

back on earth

Sometimes, adults are going in front
for a revolution, but rather
they direct an infantry

of children who dream
of heroes and ideals
and fear death only
when it is too late

because starting a revolution
is suicide, is speaking
a forbidden truth

is not hiding the light
of the words in mysteries
or stories of the past

it is beating the drum
that a better world is coming
even though it was never before
good enough

People remain people, they wish
to have a safe and interesting life
after the revolution has burned out

No dogs living here anymore
we beat them to death
They didn't have a chance
under our sticks

We laughed at their whining
and at the girls
who didn't dare to look
who ran away

to where they belong
There was a hysterical child
who had hidden a dog
We hunted them together

as if they could escape
Afterwards the girl mowed
away sand between her knees
with her bare hands

The world is waiting for us
to be cleansed
We will free it
from every godless dog

The doorbell rings, an unexpected visitor
Dad is afraid and does not want to open
The man at the door asks me

to come with him for further investigation
You must come, he says, there is no choice
Don't you make it worse than it is!

Dad, dad, why? Where
will they take me? Whatever they say
I didn't do it, I am not like that

The guards are silent, my heart runs
away from my legs, but it is not far:
three blocks away they leave me behind

in a large mansion, I am saved
the housekeeper says it too
as long as you stay within these walls

Here, the research is at a standstill
You get nice clothes and
the yeoman is a tender lover

He loves pretty girls, sixteen
you are, be happy and do as he says
Two long sleepless nights

Mr. Investigating Judge lies in me
He loves sixteen pretty girls
locked up in his house two by two

Dad, mama, I disappeared, fortunately
you don't know anything about all
I have done, because I am not like that

The bell, an unexpected visit:
a gentleman who asks me

to come along, I have to
I am arrested

but only for further investigation
Please don't make it any worse!

At the office, I get a seat
Please wait here, then it will

be fine, it takes time
You do understand, don't you?

Accuracy is required and you are
not the only one. I wish that was true!



We get food, just enough
in our own stench, silently

arguing around
the growing puddle of urine

over the rotting mattresses
a soft bed of worms

from the breathtaking poop barrel
It seems we've been quietly forgotten

Sometimes someone whispers
if he dares and faces

the angry glances of fear
of caning, so as not to get crazy

My case is vitally important

I already have a thick file
full of possibilities and side issues
interrogation after interrogation

sentence by sentence
in the clerk's calligraphy:
completely my own story

Because, if there is any indictment
then I have pronounced it myself
Plenty of time to think about it

in my cell, with sometimes a trip
to the torture chamber, to watch
others being helped

to remember all their lives
and to conjure up guilt
out of trivial events

I do what I can, I immediately gave
away my best possessions
to the guards - Yes, of course

if you wish, we accept it
then you don't have to
blame yourself -

I praise their expertise, request them
to report my cooperation
and I really don't feel too important

to ask the fleas
in their winter coat
to intercede

My fault is a fact. I don't know
it yet, that is really a matter

of time, of reading in the mirror
what, for everyone, is written

on my face - The process is just
beginning, the bell hasn't even rung

Even before my arrest, oddly enough
I already guessed, suspected, something

of the secret of my life
and as I saw the silent spectators

watching me with bated breath, ready
to spread the news

I was still hopeful, but
no longer doubting the truth

of the slander against me
I must keep calm and conform

above all, not attract attention, not
involve my family in my fate

They are not allowed to take sides
They must sit exaltedly
In black robes, stern
The high judges

This is how the old Titorelli
immortalized them in his paintings
fully compliant with the instructions
and the imagination of the people

But no one ever sees them
They shield themselves
With guards and clerks
They keep their sessions secret

upstairs in the attic rooms
on an old horse blanket
over the torn seat
of their kitchen chair

They have deaf ears
for the pleaders and order
the court ushers to encourage
the suspects in the corridors

It's already dark, the time when it's quiet
in the street. Two hat-men come
to fetch me. They take me on both sides
and carry me stiff away
across the last bridge
the trembling water

Outside the city, we rest panting
at the abandoned quarry
They wipe the hatbrim-sweat
help me take off my coat, vest and shirt
in the pale moonlight
and carefully fold my clothes

I walk up and down until they beckon
and point me where to lie down
in the pit. They wrench my back
in the sharp stones
Back and forth they reach
the knife. My bare neck is long

In the silhouette of a house
in the sky, a window swings
open with a flicker
Two arms stretch wide
and I wonder where
the judge is whom I have never seen

Show-time! Tomorrow, as a reward, the grace
of bullfighting, first watch, feel
that the punishment is certain

if you don't pay attention to the rules
of the civilization of scapegoat-riders:
participate hypocritically obedient, not be

an opponent, because you sometimes hear things
in the street along the city dungeon walls
where the parades depart, the soldiers

banners, large trunks full of verdicts
penitents with a candle, portraits
on small boxes with the bones

after the rack, escorts with their swords
and olive branches, peace on earth
among the people who behave well

and come to see the execution
Show-time! The high pile is clearly visible
Skill. A fire that lasts

By talking and writing Plato learned
what was known and what was forgotten
Thus he discovered the truth

of the old stories
about Atlantis and he was ashamed
that no one knew it anymore

The dialogue stopped, it had become clear
to the wise men: the old names had been mis-
understood as if it were about something else

But the facts were the same
Kept back by them, the mystery remained
and the trauma faded again, forgotten

that with the great victory over the glorious city
the Greek civilization also was erased -
by the mighty resentment of the loser

whose trident heaved the final word
of shocks through the country and the bay
so that Argolis became the lamented Atlantis

Listen!
We are not weak!
What shall we do with you?

You are not a warrior, you
are already dead, though you dared not
die when the time came

as if you could choose it yourself
Do you want fame?
Your head high on a stake?

Do you want a spectacle?
Your silhouette in the middle of the fire?
Do you want to leave?

Weakling! Where is your faith
in the loving Mercy?
Where is your faith

in the punishment
we execute on its behalf?
You must be an example!

I won't go to any school
where you learn to lie
about the rain and the earth
to haughty scold them
for natural phenomenon
a sphere around the sun

We set fire to those schools
The world is our workshop
Rain may be a blessing
or a punishment, that is
what we learn in the real
school of our worship

To pray is to learn
is to live, and I pray
I pray
together with the girl
who is chosen for me
I pray

before I collect the contributions
I pray
while the High Command leads me
to cleanse the villages
from slanderers, their false tongues
and their poisonous words

They stand in wetted clothes
in the sun that hides their shadow
begging
that they are good people
I will redeem them
silence their lies

Alone, with stale bread, sweet cake
and water bags under the stones
against the sun, on top of the hill
Like a falcon

Moon-cold sky, my mate
dozing under a sail, with a finger
sieve I sift the thin stars around
the Coffin

Picking up stones, arranging them in a row
roll-proof, by size, by smoothness
and colour, sorting out the facts
Thinking

Think falcon, think patience, think patience
The enemy comes, this is an ambush
Think falcon, not couch, cushions
not woman

Watch and pray Not my will
but Thine, together with me
the angels will fight relentlessly
I am not alone

I spend my treasures as a slave
What I divide, heaven divides
When I reign, heavens reigns and
when I am cruel, heaven is cruel

for its reasons, the earth is its
throne, its table and its altar
From border to border
     more than 8,000 kilometres

     a journey of seven months
we hide nets
to trap the feet
of the half-believers

we block the road with boulders
bend the bow of heaven
and shoot its arrow in their hearts
Then we dig the pits

To live under His flag
and to hoist His flag
everywhere, is not enough

White or green
letters are not enough
they must be written in red –

in your heart, so much greater
than words is His Power
greater than the greatest

country, greater than faithless prayers
and skyscrapers of mirror skin
that collapse and shatter

Oh devilish trap
of reciprocity
pride for pride

to think to be His servants
and to share in the Greatness
that surpasses everyone

The tents of the Red Moon
move along with the verge
of the fury, I can no longer

hope, sleep, watch the moon
the blood of the setting sun
that she washes from her body

the blood from which she rises
for her daily work
on what has been spoiled

And I wash myself in my tears
for the dead in the holy fire
that drove us away, sorry

Sorry we went, sorry we didn't die
There really is no devil in us
We know that we are human beings

in the world to help
each other, each other, isn't it
especially when it's raging?

Winter light eats the wide hill
ever barer, buzzards hover over

the headstones in the fertile soil
which for centuries bore olive trees

The souls are elsewhere, where Israel
takes them, the remains perish

in black cloths, to be the first people
to enter the new world on the day

the gate of mercy opens
That is what the dead have lived

and fought for, for that
they have won against the god of war

they have conquered the city, with the source
that breaks out of the earth

Jerusalem, where I suffer
from divided togetherness

Will children of my grandchildren
collect their bones, honour them and

grow olives here again
with sky-high twigs of peace?

Because I am responsible
as far as possible
I have to
immerse myself in the life

of the rivers in the delta
know the seasons
the wind and the tides
to have any chance

If I were the water myself
I would look for openings too
press on the weak spots
and break through where possible

not be brackish, smothered
evaporating in the blazing sun
of settlers who surround me
with concrete walls and soldiers

It would be all or nothing to me

Mary was pregnant
with God, a story
can't be stronger
and I think of myself

as the saint or the prophet
I would like to be, so fulfilled
of pure inspiration I am
in this silent, holy night
of the birth star

Let angels descend
to praise God
and sing peace
I am awake
under the palm tree

which bends its branches
and gives everything: fruit
and a source welling up
between its roots

People disappear
in the dark forest
of the new beginning

behind the swamp death
where is nothing else
to give food for thought

Is myopia sufficient?

All around far and near
the trees are always the same
past and the future

is hidden in children
who know nothing
but what they are told

Be careful with your words
because people disappear
in the dark forest

We create
a new world
with bombs
fear and blood
fire for a fire
debris for debris

We know
we will die
we have chosen to die
on the right side
where only warriors live

Friends and foes
have to pay
for our food
and the swords
that slaughter
the old world

Friday afternoon
we kneel in ar-Raqqa
and in the evening
we give thanks in Tel Aviv
it's a prostrated fight
prayer for a prayer