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layers of old grief

mounting to the surface

bringing memories to the mind

that was considered of no importance

little things might change the world

for the worse

as for the better

waking up

from an unpleasant dream

full of anxiety

covered with sweat

and incomprehension

how life became so complicated

while it all seemed to be

so simple

trapped between contempt for those

who makes it seem so

and compassion with those for whom

it obviously never was

gasping for air

standing firm

without any kind of rigidity

takes more flexibility

and a greater sensitivity

than most are given

and those who are

often find themselves under such strain

that they lose the awareness of

what they have

to be kind

is an art

in itself

as with every talent

it takes discipline

and devotion

to master it

and make it grow

but when someone is coming

searching for shadow under the tree of kindness

picking a fruit to satisfy their hunger

all the questioning

whether it is worth the effort

vanishes

like morning dew

under the sun

glorious sunshine

blessing the shortness of daylight

illuminating new areas

of darkness

dynamiting the mountain of the soul

releasing insights into the most secret vaults

of our being

weaving golden armours

around open hearts

silence

hitting hard

pushing up old wounds

of worthlessness

the stars are out

the pain is unbearable

the incomprehension in front of such behaviour

abyssal

what happened to love ?

. . .

a single bird is singing in the darkness

not to feel safe

is an undermining state to be in

for whatever reasons might cause

the insecurity

having nowhere to go

is unsafe

having nowhere to go with ones insecurity

is ending up in stress

stress is diminishing the faculties of the brain

limiting the flexibility of the intelligence

there can come no vision

to a stressed mind

its only hope is

that the heart may not give in

sometimes

coming back to the world

even if only after a long nights sleep

can be longer

than what is expected

the wind is drying the landscape

after a day of heavy rain

telling stories from times

long gone

telling stories from times

to come

the nights are so long by now

that it sometimes seems to be

one long lasting night

though in that darkness

under layers upon layers of artificial lights

the subtlest softness

is to be found

weaving a kind of rest around the body

which is to be found

nowhere else

than in the depths of a darkness so dense

that it feels everlasting

not to look back

is easier said

than done

and yet

everyone seems to agree

freedom cannot be reached

without leaving behind

what was

not by denying the past

that is just another way to carry it on

but by turning every stone

until it becomes weightless

and then let it go