I can’t stand it anymore
To live in between those walls
Where you don’t laugh
To live through those habits
In which you don’t live
I can’t stand it anymore
Those missed encounters
Those missing encounters
Those days and hours
Painful reminder
Of our absence … More Secluded
Spring is blooming and I can only realise I am among those who walk their autumn during spring times. I always thought it was reversed, I surely walk my spring during fall times. I never really thought about it the other way around…. But it does make sense: one can’t go without the other. How could I hope for two springs when everyone else only has one? … More Frühjahrsmüdigkeit
life is only a matter of departures partitions abandons
of griefs
more or less tiny more or less real more or less vivid
since even seasons die one after another
eat each other
since even spring
the Earth and Sky’s blossom
is doomed to vanish before summer … More Beginning(s)
Steeling last afternoon hours
Fleeing from the cool nights
Dodging Sunday’s crowd
And smell fresh cut grass … More Seeking Spring
I missed my calling
I should have been a High Priestess
In the Temple of Love
Immortal and Providencial
Everyday I would
Pray Love Praise … More Love is calling
I was never taught how to be loved only how to be unloved I was taught I wasn’t enough to be chosen to be heard to be loved … More Surviving Love
See where it leads. To write randomly. With no purpose. No time. No subject. Spontaneous writing.
See where it leads to write effortless. After reading poems.
See what comes from emptiness. … More Daydreaming
14 years ago, I wrote my first play. The plot was about five women, five resistants, during WWII German Occupation. They were a puzzle of real witnesses of history. But they also were, each in their own ways and despite only one being written “for me”, pieces of soul, mind and heart. … More Every layer of my soul
Alone on the bridge
Alone in the city
In between
In the dance
Life goes through
People’sound
World’s smell
Petrol’s taste
Air’s contact
Street’s show … More Still dancer
March carries a different kind of movement. Not rushing. Not forcing. Just the quiet sense that something inside you is ready to move. Yet. You stay still. It is not an explosion. It is not even a flood. … More The quiet rush
Fleeting Wor(l)ds 