Jester #5words

Inspired by the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing prompt #103

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Still in the black,

dawn not so far away,

the last dream hoists its sail –

and, I, forever the jester

the fuse of your nights,

the white noise of your world…

Picture: Charles Baudelaire by Felix Nadar, 1855, via afrouiafroui.tumblr.com

August 21, 2017 0

Alone #writephoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt

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Mist has invaded the valley below, a diffused light veils the details of the landscape. But where am I? Where is this cliff? Is it day break, or dusk? Should I know this place, how did I get here, and how long have I been here, watching how many sunrises?

Finally, the real question arises from the clouds my mind appears to be surrounded with: where are you? The silence is total, this may not be my world, but what is it? Have I lost you, forever? A deep desperation creeps into my soul…

Close to me something, someone, stirs. So, I may not be alone?

“Another nightmare my darling,” you are saying, in the calm voice that always settles my fear, “You’re too hot, I’ll get you some water, and make coffee. You know it’s these drugs, a side effect, soon you’ll cope without them… And, by the way, I am here, you are not alone!”

August 12, 2017 6

Twilight #Writephoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photoprompt

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We stood at the edge of the woods, as our star was disappearing behind the hills, a move so swift it surprised us. Here, in the open, the air was much cooler, and you shivered a little as we watched, in awe, the waves of mist rising from the valley in front of us. The power of the spirits was palpable, and soon the white sea was engulfing the tips of the trees, masking our path.

Your pale, elfin face just visible in the deepening darkness, you looked at me and smiled, silently saying: “It takes two ghosts to be amazed by twilight!”

June 15, 2017 1

You #IWD2017

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You haunt my dreams, you haunt these pages, and the places where I once was, and the ones I haven’t seen yet, indispensable, sometime smiling, sometime not, as if you wanted me to know when I keep to the path of truthfulness, and when I don’t.

In a crowd you always find me, and, in my worst nightmares, I no longer see you…

Without you I wouldn’t be here, just a few mineral atoms lost in vacuum. I would not write, what is a writer without muse? How would I even know that this world existed?

Yet, without me, you would be around for sure, but someone else entirely: her reflection in your eyes would belong to another being, maybe even the opposite of me? Can I imagine that strange being, in a world I know nothing about?

No, you are saying, this couldn’t be, for you have made me, and in many ways, I have made you.

Picture: The river, by Chris De Becker

March 8, 2017 2

Reflections in a Mirror #WritersWednesday

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We retrace our steps, without intention, it just happens: suddenly we see ourselves, there at that terrace, one evening, or there, along those walls, pushing our bikes. It’s later at night, and the Neue Gallerie is not yet closed, we meet there, in a concert of bright lights and laughter.

That was three years ago, then it was Spring; how fast time goes in this City? Those ghosts are us, or perhaps, we have become them. We know those streets, we can follow our shadows. They, us, look at us, interested and tender, those younger faces, ours, so familiar, now observing us from the other side of the mirror.

But which side are we in?

Photo: inspired by the beautiful blog https://streetberlin.net/, street photography. berlin. kulturforum. 2016 © martin waltz

January 11, 2017 2

Infinite #WinterThoughts

What is time?

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Only propositions have sense; only in the nexus of a proposition does a name have meaning.

~ Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (1921), 3.3

We live surrounded by symbols. In this city, where you and I dream, love, walk and invent new causes to believe, infinity lives through their immortality.

The ghosts have names, some secrets, as yet unrevealed. They have left for us so many traces of their own dreams: Viktoria Hill, the Iron Cross, the Blue Angel, abandoned airfields, hideous ruins, and for each one we can discover them, silent, ever so present, braving the flow of time, as ice covering the Spree.

The lakes are now frozen, the air carries the scents of wood and coal fires, perhaps the lingering sounds of ancient wars. So, you and I, my love, we walk with the Dead, from time to time, listening to their calm voices, evoking infinity.

January 8, 2017 0

Echo #DailyPost

Can you hear?

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This place does not feel empty, not as empty as I would expect it to be, without you. In truth I can hear your steps, your voice, I can sense your scent. You are here and you are not. You are real, and you are not.

Is it echo of my memories, echo in a mind now turned to the void?

Image: Alina Noir, via afroui

December 1, 2016 0

Passage #writephoto

Thursday Photo Prompt – Passage #writephoto

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From the depth we emerge to the light, hesitant, expecting,

Your hand holds mine: we never thought it would be like this.

We hear faint voices, are those of angels?

We no longer feel the cold, a strange peace invades our souls:

Are we now in Paradise?

November 17, 2016 2

Waiting #DailyPost #Autumn

From the exquisite crew

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We look out on the street, the scenery of everyday, ever changing, never fading. Autumn is there, palpable, in the leaves blown across the sidewalks, in the colours of the trees, in the chill in the air. Slowly, implacably, the city changes to its winter clothes.

You and I are waiting, loving, reading, light jazz floating through the rooms. Soon the chill will turn to ice, us too will wear our winter coats.

We love the city, we will never stop waiting.

Image: Glas und Metal, Berlin , September 2016 – via jasminmeyer

October 18, 2016 0