Just a quick write-up. It is rather lyrics than a poem, so I shall most probably make it into a song.

I redid my calculations,
And the conclusion I’ve won
Is that if I were still here,
I had better be gone.

For the light grows dim,
And wherever you’ve been,
I’ve been waiting for you,
But you never came.

I’ve inspected the hole in my existence,
And it’s all been hindered by my persistence,
I’ve been everything and anything wrong,
It all could be mended – if I were gone.

The cure for this whole situation
Doesn’t take a silver tongue, easy persuasion.
It’s been written all along on the wall:
For the one to thrive, the other takes a fall.

All Alone

I am all alone in my head,
There is no shelter from the raging tempest,
No comfort, not a helping hand.

I am all alone in the dark,
There is no light to keep the shadows at bay,
No solace, not a single hug.

I am all alone without you,
Despite the gathering of faces I know,
No relief, till I see your face.

Sirens’ Song

From days of old until today
I have not seen a single ray
Of sunlight that
Would not turn into burning pain
Against the ever-changing flow of things

I know exactly what tomorrow brings
Pretentious joy and poison rain
Inside my head
Where hopes are naught but broken clay
The scars of which shall never fade

China in the Void

‘I feel lost inside my own skin’, I wrote.
It is not like a prison –
I am just all over the place –;
not like ashes scattered to the wind –
I just extend indefinitely.
I cannot get a hold of anything –
it keeps floating
like ethereal china
in an endless void.


All the people in the world,
with all their lives,
with all their deaths,
with all their words,
with all their silence,
with all their promises,
with all their oaths,
with all their dreams,
with all their nightmares,
with all their deeds,
with all their apathy,
with all their gains,
with all their losses,
mean nothing.

Everything is destined to go to waste in the end,
sooner or later,
without question, without doubt.
Only our denial makes it appear different –
as though anything were worth our while.

And when I look into your eyes,
I see you at the end of time:
We are worlds apart.
And when I look into your heart,
I see your doom.
I see your doom approaching.



The air is fresh and cool tonight. Its silence fills my head, and its loneliness surrounds me. The memories of a lifetime pass by, paralleled by the inevitable insight that nothing will ever change. The faces keep passing by and are replaced by others, but the rest – relationships, events, love, hatred, trust, the final treason, pain, regret, emptiness, pointlessness – ceaselessly repeats itself in a vicious circle.
The bypassing memories suddenly come to an abrupt halt – you. I can think of nothing else, as I behold, enthralled by a slightly uneasy awe, the goddess smile playing on your velvet lips forming your well-shaped mouth which is only surpassed by the sparks emitted by your darkish eyes. For a moment, I catch my breath and my heart appears to collapse, eager to burst the suddenly too confined ribcage keeping it. I shudder, and I am at a loss for words. I feel cold, and as I look outside, the night has crept on the sky, leaving me standing with my back to the wall.


There is no hope. I am a modern Prometheus of love. The vultures pick at my heart, rip it out of my chest, and devour it eagerly. But alas, until the next day, all will have been restored in order that the torture may continue for ever, and no Hercules is to come so as to release me.

Peter Paul Rubens 032

At the End of the Day

There may happen quite a lot of things every day. People are born, people die, buildings rise and fall, as do empires, you take many breaths, your heart keeps pounding, you love one person, hate a second one, and despise the rest, you eat and you digest, you work, you laugh and you cry, you hope, you dream, you believe, you lie and you cheat, you try to make a living, and so on indefinitely.
But at the end of the day, deep down you know that only two things remain: loneliness and pointlessness.