There is nothing more beautiful than the green
of palms after a long journey
through the desert, fresh water
and a shelter from the sun
But the people

watch you, it's all boredom
trapped between thick walls
(Everything better than the streets
  that stink of cattle and shit
  The flies lick your eyes)

There is nothing more beautiful than the colours
of silk and gems on the body
of a handsome woman, pearls and perfume
in her clothes, between her breasts
so that the people

watch you and your husband
spoils you with desire
grapes and sweet cakes
It is a lovely dream
that it will not pass

The free field, the blowing
of my hair, the waving
and flowing of the grass, only

obeying myself
No water surface, nothing
does shine but your eyes

to make me feel beautiful –
I despise seducing
in see-through clothes

I spit on being beautiful
to be counted
I disgust being beautiful

and therefore not be counted
I too walk the world!
I too do a lot of work there!

I too oversee what happens
I too know the people
and I talk wisely with you

I lay awake over it
We have failed
and there is no punishment

Devils robbed the treasure
of the gods as gods
They climbed through heaven

through the square of the gods
between the high walls
(the door remained closed)

Why? Why
is it not bad? Is it different
from what we think? What is wrong

with our thoughts? What should we do?
Make a roof? Desecrate the sanctuary
with armed men in the free zone?

Or leave it as it is?
Remove what is left?
And hope for a new era?

Heaven has captured me
in beauty, mama said:
you know, people
always talk

bad about a beautiful woman
with a loving man, you are powerless
No one hears what you say
unless you cry and plead guilty
Then they believe you immediately

Heaven has captured me
in holiness, no man is allowed
to come near to me, I am an example
I have become a story

and I must wait inside
till I'm old enough, washed
white as someday the stone
will be white again, on the banks
where it all has begun

Like many girls, I got a reputation
for being beautiful, with long hair

but I do not care
I am no more than another

I learned, when I married
a simple man

I could live in a royal way
(caravans fill the houses and the stables)

but I don't believe
that the rich can enter

through the eye of the needle
in the gates of Jerusalem

They broke the stone
The pieces will lie in the mouth

as long as there are poor families

     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

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

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

Some children are serious
They don't cling to
a golden hand or an angel
with large swan wings

They walk in circles around the void
in which the possibilities lie
They don't want to know anything
about the statues from the past

in which people think their lives
are recorded
Some children
prefer to go their own way

They like to be alone and in their hearts
they hold the reins
of the future, seen
in the night of the star

and my husband is such a child

Not even tents, some cloths, wet
cardboard and pieces of plastic tied
between mud bushes, children
limp with their mothers, everywhere

young men stomping around
looking in every nook and corner
of their heads how to tear
down the fence, leave

their hopeless misery
in this no man's land
to put love again
in the eyes begging for help

Who cares about them, who
among us breaks the indecision, who
brings water, a bed, a loaf of bread, who
does do something, who goes to them, who

dares to look them in the eye
from person to person?

I passed on the stories
of my life at the table
That's how Muhammad learned to talk

and to long for the Young Age
of peace and justice -
a future we dream

more beautiful than reality
but still far away. Certain
are only the greed

and the hard work
until you get ill
and prepare

to leave
for Jazira in the north
where paradise awaits

Will there be sand pirates
as long as there are people
living in sand?

The desert is in bloom after a day
of rain, at night the water dribbles

between the shoots of bushes
and young trees - a wise lesson

in politics, to distribute what is there
whoever the people are

and wherever they live, for
the rain and the earth are free:

a field and a garden for everyone
believing or not

in freedom and equality
believing or not

that God exists
and does not get tired
of giving mankind new chances

Magical powers bubbling up
from retorts of cellar alchemists
or vibrant in the blue blood

of sons of sons of grand princes:
old whispered secrets
and the dream of mastery

but only disappointments
have been found, poisoning
and the immortal superstition

in golden chromosomes
which want to live exclusively
once awakened

from their generation-
long slumber, germinated
in the age of germination

Gold mined in the golden age
Justice to be won in a new age
And grace in the age of grace

Some people are too great
for a common name, they have
earned a title, the highest

praise that a name can express
however temporary their lives are
and may later be forgotten

no longer considered important
by poets who can enchant
a thousand nights with their tongues

and with half an eye on popular texts
blow up success stories
after the facts have settled down

making them greater than was imaginable
because then they become true, as old
as mankind and the world

So many spiders on one superweb
with the captains in the middle, as a seal
of the covenant that makes them mighty

The threads are strongly spun
but the jumpers on the edge
are hungry and have no more preys

So what else can the captains do
but go further and push the boundaries
because brotherhood improves the world

That is the great peace ideal
The loot and the taxes pay
for it and keep the spiders alive

With all their names
the captains swear and adjure:
the web is sacred, it has to be

larger, much larger, it will
have to grow worldwide
After that we'll see further

Today too, I will do the right things
Then no one will mock me

My revenge claws fast and far
until world peace is established
for lack of opponents

I don't need riches, I want power
but not for me, I'm a servant
The honour and the memory are enough for me

Let the best poets sing of me
name my deeds and praise them
as those of a great man:

the righteous hero of the sea
to Jerusalem, Damascus and Baghdad
Rome's strict father's hand

to the Himalayas and above
up to the seventh heaven

Trust is a chest full of knives
that you hand out to achieve something
Dangerous to life, but indispensable

I know it never goes well
in the fight against abuse
and all other (self-interest)

Yet I am not afraid
to divide
and rule

that old lesson
how to subdue the knives
so that they settle themselves

to peace benefits over blood-
shed, that is really a matter
of perseverance until I succeed

in uniting the people

When they are at your door
you already know, it already is
too big to comprehend

Heaven does not help me
I don't understand the higher purpose
of the war, I can only hope

for an outcome that gives it meaning
We are promised soft flesh of fruit
but we are given stones to eat

The odds turn, coalitions change
and we stay behind, without help
and love we just plod on

until a disease releases us
from the hard life
we never dreamed of

It takes a week to travel
from Mecca to Jerusalem
but why should we go
with God in our midst?

A messenger brought a chest
covered with gold, and two rams' horns
in a purple cloth, with passionate words
about the forefather and the sacrifice

there on that mountain

We are living in the most sacred place
with two proofs of God
the horns as a sign
of the covenant

and the black stone that was white
in the time of paradise
the tangible reminder
of the disobedience

He was not old, but old enough
to know that soon the pleasure
of girls coming into bloom
would slip away from him

As long as possible, as long as it lasted
he was still the man who, on the back
of his camel brought a girl
to his tent after a battle

She was ripe, on the saddle
she lost her first blood
and in the orchard he drank
honey with the Coptic girl

His wives smelled it
They belittled him
in their most seductive clothes
but he said it was allowed

He even wanted an ugly girl
Therefore, for some he became
the man who loved virgins
here and in the hereafter