How many?

How many nights she spent,
in wait for the infinite night.
The most beautiful of all, the „now and forever“.

How many tears she cried,
without ever having those for true love,
until now, the ones that burn her skin.

How many dreams she dreamt,
adventure and cheering experienced all together,
until she found the one dream, her “every night”.

How many moments she was happy,
has laughed out loud,
without knowing what happiness
truly is. Until now.

How many times she pleaded,
on her knees, for the one,
coming to her life, until now.
Until he came.

How many years, months, days, hours
and minutes are still on her route,
before eternity is here.
How many?



What drives you?
Which factor motivates you?
What makes push your limits?
Where’s your goal?

Who owns your heart?
Have you found this special person?
Are you looking for him or her?
Do you feel loved, in any way?

What keeps you awake at night?
What is it that fills your thoughts,
giving you sleepless nights?
Why can’t they be delayed, these thoughts?

What is it that makes you strong?
Where do you get your strength from?
Maybe you had to fight, without having a choice?
Are you a protector, and if so, who
protects you?

Is it just this life right here for you?
Do you think we have only one chance?
Do you think there are many lives
or one after the “right here”?

What makes you happy?
A smile on your face,
the world seems fine.
What is it that makes you happy?
For just a moment, or maybe forever?

What music makes you want to dance?
Whether your body or your mind,
What music, makes you want to move?
Can you describe it, this feeling?

Do you feel like dancing, maybe with me?


Silent, your thoughts that are with me.
They accompany me, step by step.
Always there, the security that surrounds me.

Not tangible, indescribable,
I know you are here.
A call, a message away.

As I get out of my car,
A last look at your lines,
I know I am alone,
yet I’ll take you with me.

You know, there is never
going to be another decision for me.
I go, while you are wishing me the best,
knowing about my pain,
but still, you want to go with me.

My goal, so far away,
The one and only pure love, that drives me,
It is also your love that carries me.

This war cannot be won,
from anyone else but me.
Your hands are tied,
I am working to become an unleashing artist
for mine.

Without words, I am assured,
behind me stands an army,
that would like to win the fight for me.
My army, my protection, my shield.
The incredible people
In my life: my
Family, my friends.

Silent warriors,
but your words silent,
having no power on my battlefield.

Loud and strong in my heart,
Knowing, waiting for me.
Accepting me, as I come,
my head bends, in defeat.
Certainly, I will get up again.
Look at you every day,
Full of gratitude and pride.

I would lead the war,
even without you, behind me and by my side,
without these wings that carry me,
Being my backwind.

I was blessed, by silent wings
that bring me your strength,
Your love,
Your courage.
Even though, they are silent,
from the outside.


Stop waiting for the special moment,
the magic, the enlightenment.

Stop waiting for the big, true love,
good things are often closer than you may think.

Stop waiting for perfection,
it’s nothing more than a fairy tale.

Stop waiting for luck and happiness,
be happy, right here, right now.

Stop waiting for the sparkling idea,
go ahead, find some inspiration.

Stop waiting for the phone to ring,
take it, dial, take action.

Stop waiting for tomorrow, today,
here and now is the day.

Stop waiting, you may miss something.
Stop waiting, time is running out.
Stop waiting, for everything to fall into place.
Live now!

While these suggestions are not wrong,
they are not completely right either:

The one who’s believing in magic is ready to wait for it.
True, big and never-ending love, is sometimes not easy to find.Perfection, not to wait but to strive for.
Luck and happiness right here and now, but not as change for the price of the real thing.
Found inspiration could be the route to the great idea.
The call you are waiting for, maybe it needs a bit more time.
Today is one of your days, but tomorrow could be the “day of days”.

The one who’s able to wait, because he wants to, is unbreakable.


„She gave her all for me. I cannot leave her hanging all alone”, Klara told herself while
taking her shoes and jacket off. She just got back home from visiting her grandma.
Right there, on her little table in the hallway, the postcard her parents sent her was sitting.
This one was from Malta, it was one of many.

Klara’s dad was a successful international correspondent for a well-known online magazine.
One of the most famous in Europe. A few years ago, he changed his job from being a senior editor in Berlin, for this big chance. Her mother and him, left just weeks after he made that decision. Back in during time, Klara was still studying art-history at the university. She got her degree and started to work in a local art gallery. While loving her job, other than work, there was not much holding her in Berlin but, there was Grandma. She already had been care-dependent before her parents left. They took care of everything and, that’s why she had the luxury of having a private nurse living with her. Still, there was something missing: Family.

More than once, her parents asked her to pull up stakes and leave to be with them.
The magazine her dad worked for, offered Klara a job as a columnist, for a weekly art feature. She could travel the world and explore the local art, together with her parents.
Indeed, the task of writing something profound every week scared her a little but then again, she was sure she could succeed. Each time when she left to see her grandma, Klara told her herself, that she’d talk to her about it. She never had the heart to do so.
Too heavy, the guilt arising in her heart. The guilty feeling of leaving her alone.
The loneliness she’d probably fall into.

Not only once, she came home in anger. Not like her grandmother ever said anything that made her mad, but because, Klara, was such a coward. She was simply not able to make the words leave her lips. Also, she was mad at her parents. They were just doing whatever their own plan was about, being closer related to grandma than she was.
For sure, they took good care of her. From afar.

The next morning, Klara glanced the last time onto the postcard her parents had sent while taking her jacket. On her way to the subway, she built up her speech in her mind: “Grandma, I love you, but I don’t want to waste that opportunity”,
“Please don’t cry. I will come to visit as often as possible”,
“I hesitated for so long, but now I’ve made my choice”.
Just as she turned the key in the lock of her grandma’s door, her heart was beating heavily. Anne-Marie, the nurse of her grandma was waiting for her. Ready to take her jacket.
“Go inside, Klara. She’s waiting already”, Anne-Marie said, in a happy tone.
Klara walked through the big, white folding doors into the living room of the old lady, who was sitting in her wheelchair, facing the big window.
“My baby, I’m so happy you are here”, she said, with an angelic smile on her face.
Autumn leaves were dancing in the wind outside.
“I, I am so happy to see you, too, Grandma”, Klara said. Almost pushing the words out.
How the heck could she even think about that? Exactly, she could not.

Gratitude is sometimes a bond, but often a chain.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Nothing – part 3

Darkness turned into light.
My limbs, still hurting,
but full of grace, I took the misery.

Voices have been heard,
just like music, but one was special.
Beautiful, soft and close.

A hand, on mine,
I recognized this feeling.
This was the hand that held me for so long.

The storm was over,
the torturing nothing through the ages,
towards a better era.

Love that hit me,
covering all the pain.
Love, that I gave, erasing all my misery.

Still, blurred my sight,
little by little coming back to me,
dripping like soft rain.

The eyes I looked into,
the face I saw right in front of me,
I felt as I knew it, saw it before,
as I’ve lived this moment already.

Tears were running down the face,
just as it was back then,
exactly like this. Being robbed of this memory all my life,
I knew for sure, I’ve lived it before.

“My child”, she said.
“Mama”, I wanted to say, but my voice wasn’t ready.
“My darling, I knew you’d make it through this”,
“Mama, I love you”, my lips shaped voiceless.

A new beginning.
Not a new life, but mine.
Yet, it starts over again, weak and small.
The scene almost alike, full of hope.

The light, stronger than darkness.
Saved from an ocean of nothing.
It was hope that triumphed,
at last, it didn’t die.

Nichts – Teil 3

Aus Dunkelheit wurde Licht.
Meine Glieder, sie schmerzten,
voller Dankbarkeit, nahm ich es an, das Elend.

Stimmen erklangen,
wie Musik, eine war besonders.
Wunderschön, sanft und ganz nah.

Eine Hand auf der meinen,
ich erkannte dieses Gefühl.
Dies war die Hand, die mich so oft gehalten hatte.

Der Sturm vorbei,
das Nichts im Wandel der Zeit.
Auf in eine bessere Ära.

Liebe, die mich traf
überlagerte jeglichen Schmerz.
Liebe, die ich gab, löschte all mein Elend aus.

Verschwommen meine Sicht,
die allmählich zu mir zurückkehrte,
sie kam tröpfelnd, wie sanfter Regen.

Die Augen, in die ich blickte,
das Gesicht, das ich nun vor mir sah,
mir war es, als kannte ich es,
als hätte ich diesen Moment bereits erlebt.

Tränen liefen über das Gesicht,
wie damals, ganz genau wie damals.
Dieser Erinnerung mein ganzes Leben beraubt,
wusste ich jetzt genau, ich hatte sie bereits erlebt.

„Mein Kind“, sagte sie.
„Mama“, wollte ich sagen, doch meine Stimme war noch nicht bereit.
„Mein Schatz, ich wusste Du schaffst es“,
„Mama, ich liebe Dich“, waren die Worte,
die meine Lippen stumm formten.

Alles auf Anfang.
Nicht ein neues Leben, sondern meins.
Dennoch beginnt es neu, schwach und klein.
Die Szene fast gleich, voller Hoffnung.

Das Licht, das stärker war als die Dunkelheit.
Errettet aus dem Meer des Nichts.
Es war die Hoffnung, die überwog,
denn zu allerletzt starb sie nicht.

Nichts – Teil 2

Der Schmerz brennt meine Brust hinab, und ich könnte nicht glücklicher sein.
Hier ist es, ein echtes Gefühl, ich brenne!
Ein weiterer Atemzug, der Schmerz unerträglich.
Er steigt hinauf in meinen Kopf, ich kann ihn spüren, er hämmert und vibriert.
Meine Glieder reißen, der Schmerz lässt nicht nach.
Fülle meine Lungen erneut mit Sauerstoff. Immer stärker, die Flammen in meiner Brust.
Das Zucken meiner Arme, ich kann es nicht kontrollieren.
Jegliche Qual, erträglicher als das Nichts in dem ich war.

Gebettet in körperlichem Elend, kommt meine Erinnerung wieder.
Wie ein Donnerschlag. Ein Tag am Meer windig und trüb. Mit Sand unter meinen Füßen führte mich mein Weg am Strand entlang. Wolken zogen düster vorbei, bis sie sich bündelten. Schwärzer wurden. Stärker und härter wurde der Sturm, ich wollte umkehren. Das hätte ich längst tun sollen.
Auf dem Absatz machte ich kehrt. Ich sollte etwas schneller gehen, als ich gekommen war. Die Welt schien unterzugehen.
Ich blickte auf die raue See. Die Wellen tobten, Blitze zischten über sie hinweg.
Das Pfeifen des Sturms in meinen Ohren, war es mir, als hörte ich Schreie.

Ich suchte die Wellen ab, meine Sicht verschwommen, von Regen und Sand, welche mir unnachgiebig ins Gesicht peitschten. Dort sah ich es, direkt vor mir, tatsächlich aber kilometerweit entfernt. Beinahe hätte ich es übersehen. Dort ertrank ein Mensch. Geistesgegenwärtig sah ich mich um: „Hilfe! Wir brauchen Hilfe!“ rief ich aus Leibeskräften. War der Strand zuvor voller Menschen, so war ich nun allein. Nicht eine Menschenseele in Sicht. Ich musste helfen! Streifte meine Jacke und Schuhe ab, während ich in Richtung Meer stolperte.
„Ich komme, ich komme Ihnen zu Hilfe!“ schrie ich.
Im Wasser angekommen, merkte ich, dass die Rettung beschwerlicher werden würde als ich angenommen hatte. Die Wassermassen pressten sich von allen Seiten gegen meine Glieder. All meine Kraft legte ich in Arme und Beine und schwamm.
Endlos erschien mir die Zeit, in der ich mich auf den in Not Geratenen zu bewegte.
Zuviel Wasser schluckte ich, trieb mich an, von Husten geschüttelt.
Als ich mein Ziel erreichte, erkannte ich die junge Frau, die nun nicht mehr schrie.
Sie trieb still in den hohen Wellen.
Kam ich zu spät? Beim Versuch sie zu fassen, bemerkte ich die Schwere ihres Körpers. Wie sollte ich sie und mich zurück ans Ufer bringen?
Ich schlang beide Arme um ihre Schultern, schwamm rückwärts.
Von der nächsten unaufhaltsamen Welle erfasst, fühlte ich das Wasser, das meine Lungen füllte. Ich hielt sie fest, drückte sie an mich.
Unter Wasser öffnete ich meine Augen. Die Aussichten in jeglicher Hinsicht pechschwarz. Meine Erinnerung, hier schwimmt sie davon. Von hier an war nichts.
War ich nicht mehr?

Der Schmerz des Atmens – vermutlich nur ein Hirngespinst – gab ich ihm dennoch eine weitere Chance. Ich konzentrierte mich nun auf nichts Anderes, ließ die Erinnerung ziehen. Weit fort. Er kam zurück, der brennende Schmerz. Strömte nun auch aus meinen Augen wie salziges Wasser. Doch als es schien, als wäre jede weitere Minute in Qual mein sicheres Ende, atmete ich weiter.
Immer weiter.

Been lucky?

As multi functional as the definition of „luck “, as big the range of ways to find it.
Maybe it’s waiting for you, at the end of the way. Watch out. Look around.
Possibly, it’s right around the corner. Just in that place, where you wouldn’t have expected it to be.
Watch out!

There’s so much you can do, to find luck. Don’t just follow the route, go other ways, too. Range the woods wade through waters and high grass. Be ready, to find you luck. What is it you are looking for? Are you aware of what you are searching? Don’t give up.

Are you witnessing when others are happy? Is it the same thing, you are looking for?
They’re smiling, having a good time. It seems whatever they were looking for, they got it.
Do you ask yourself, why you’re still in search of it?
Have you just not been lucky?

Maybe you’ve had luck in your hands, but dropped it?
Just left it there, near the path. Halfway to your big dream.
I wish you could keep that little piece of luck.
Not just obsessively pursuing the ultimate.
That you can hold this small piece of luck in your hands, unforgotten your big goal,
but able to reward this little breeze of luck.
Don’t just get lucky, get ready to feel fortunate, too.

The art of art

Art is, what you are able to see in it.
It can be colorful, shining or unclear.
Art is able to do it all, but well,
there’s nothing like a “must”.

Art is emotion.
It’s feeling and memory.
Carrying you far away or back home.

Art is effecting.
It’s shaking you when you truly see it.
That’s what it does, for those who recognize and

Art is singing.
A song that you know very well,
or a new one, which sound shows you a new world.

Art is dancing.
On your mind, within your soul and your heart. Swinging to the beat, heartbeat like.

Art is different.
For some people it’s a waste,
for others, it means the world.

Art is free.
Doing whatever it wants, not what others may dictate.  Knows no Borders, never did.


Art is a daughter of freedom – Friedrich Schiller