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

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

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

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

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

My world doesn't have to be bigger
than as far as my eyes reach
yet they see a new horizon
when I look around over there

     Give me your hand, wait
     a while with going and come
     with me, together
     we can be at home

I will always stand still
on street corners
looking where the sun is
where the clouds go

     Take off your jacket, your fear
     be happy here
     take a bath
     I'll give you a massage

Indefinite scents
blow over the beach
my feet push
bow waves in the sand

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

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

we laughed at their whine
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
sand away between her knees
with her bare hands

The world is waiting for us
to be freed
we will free it
from every godless dog

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

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

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