Irony of Human World

I know...

and this knowledge happens to be my greatest hindrance, 

my severest handicap.

Extract 2 - Old Friends

"What is about old friends?", he heard the prisoner ask, "You keep going on about them over and over." It was true. Thinking of it, nothing had flamed up his rage as much as the thought all which had happened to his friends and his friendships. He took a better look at his prisoner, trying to find out if he had any old friends and how their friendship would be like. Did he really have so little idea to ask him such unforgivable question? How dared he? Did he not know anything of the sacred oath? 
So he pictured him closely. His prisoner was a young man with strong features. He looked healthy and somehow provided with the essentials a man needs, here on the battlefield as well as at home. Yet nothing on his face indicated traces of happiness, neither recent ones nor any further back in time.

"Years go by", he started, now obviously trying not to think of the prisoner as his enemy, as the enemy to his dearest friends, but as a young fellow with little expectation of his own precious life, "and one day, in all amazement you look and see someone there, who knows so much about you it feels as though they wanted you to be like this. At first you want to fear them but just then you realize, that they have been there  watching over you all through these years, right by your side."

Whispers from the other Side

As I watched you grow, I tried to get used to the image of an invisible hand, patting you on the shoulder, every time you were on the verge of breaking into pieces. There was no other way that such a fine creature could manage to stand up again and again and again after having been torn apart so many times. It was hard, but I preferred to believe that something, someone was there for you, maybe because we were all too lazy, too scared, too drifted away to even think of standing up for you; for you, who was always there smiling at us, whenever we needed to look ahead, before moving on. Unspoken, we all needed you standing strong, we all wanted to know that the world could not collapse because there would be at least one being still keeping the pace, no matter what. I loved to watch your pace most specially. Was it a trigger, a dream, a drag or a feeling of safety? I was obsessed with the thought of someone, something else wanting to keep you on the move, to believe that your pace was not only important to us, that we were all a part of something greater.

Still, when the time finally came, after my eyes - now well used to watching you - could work out a clear capture, when my ears did manage to hear the words, I could not believe what was there... or maybe I did not want believe.

There it was, right by your side, when you were about to give in, when you were undeniably worn out and a tiny step before losing it. I saw your eyes loosing their light, I saw your lips letting out a sigh heavy as steel, I saw your limbs starting to shake under the burden and there I saw the hand on your worn out shoulders. "I am still here", were the exact words. It was unmistakably LIFE, whispering, "and I definitely can not stop."

Intoxication

One day I will pick the last grape from the vine;

So shall I press the strongest wine for the feast I will throw,

Where all the world shall drink. 

So will they sing and dance all through the night.

And right before the sunrise, 

Let this drunkenness do its magic,

Let the spell be completed,

As we give in and fall in love. 

  

Sehnsucht

Immer wenn meine Pflanzen an mir sterben oder wenn es ihnen grundlos schlecht geht, merke ich, dass ich es wieder unterdrück haben musste. Als Erste machen sie sich Sorgen und zeigen es mir auch deutlich, wenn etwas nicht stimmt. Irgendwie sind die Faser dieses Leibes doch diesem Gewächs näher als jedem Fleisch und die, die den Raum und Luft mit mir teilen, sie teilen auch irgendwann die Gefühle. Ob ich es wharhaben möchte oder nicht, für sie ist es zu klar.  

Ich aber idiot, ich verstehe die Gefühle doch meist nicht, auch seien es die meinigen. 

Nach langem Nachdenken kann ich es endlich einsehen: mich packt die Sehnsucht, größer als je. Die bitterssüße Sehnsucht nach so vielem, was ich hinterher gelassen habe, was mir weggenommen wurde, wovon ich zeitlich getrennt bin aber auch nach dem, was ich nicht kennen durfte.

Die Sehnsucht nach dir wird langsam unerträglich. Ich will es nicht zugeben, ich will es nicht gespürt haben, ich will diese flammende Sehnsucht nicht wahrnehmen. Die Sehnsucht nach all deinen unausgesprochenen Wörtern, die ich an jenem Abend laut und deutlich gehört habe, nach den magischen Händen, die kein göttlicher Bildhauer aus den edelsten Steinen zu schneiden weiß, die Sehnsucht nach den wilden Augen, die keinen menschlichen Tag auf dieser Erde mitgesehen haben, nach dem Gesang, der das wildeste Bestier herlocken und zähmen kann, nach einem Lächeln, das der Klang aller Sterne stillt und nach einem unwiderstehlichen Geruch... heiliger Platanus dein Geruch, der kann allen Sinn rauben und umdrehen. Und dann immer wieder der Klang deiner Stimme, sowohl sie deine Kehle reitend auf Schallwellen verlässt als auch wenn sie still in deiner Kehle bleibt....