How lonely sits Berlin
A matter of my sin,
Compulsive signs of hope,
Transformed to misery.
How lonely stands the star,
For nothing but poetry,
In love with the Sun itself,
A backlash to it’s memory.
How lonely sits Berlin,
Drags me onto transcendence,
Oh, how I wish I jumped the Berlin Wall,
Oh, how I wish death awaits the absurd of my mind.
Under the dreary sky,
I stand meaningless beside you,
My head tilted down at my feet
With a stare that says nothing
Washes my lungs with rain,
But I remain the same with the conclusion,
To compound words is dull,
So I stand lifeless beside you.
Morbid as the dawn is,
It lays it’s filthy hands on my shoulders
As if it wasn’t enough to carry the moon
With nothing but my puny body,
So once again I stand speechless beside you.
I lost many people on the way to freedom,
I lost my infinite soul,
I’m not ready to lose what I only have,
So I stand nowhere else but beside you.
If these trees could talk,
They would speak of you and I,
They would spill words for your immortale grace
And waste the same for this atrocious soul of mine.
Tonight silence broke my cruel heart,
The air became skin-tight and the sky fell apart,
Today is the day I realized what I’ve lost,
Every little piece that I have tossed,
Trudging slowly infront of my eyes,
With nothing more than violent goodbyes.
If this sky could talk,
It wouldn’t open it’s winsome mouth,
For silence is what collides the deaf
And their pity hearts full of ravishing passion
I said:
“Wouldn’t it be great to strangle all the foolish words,
Replace them with a stare which says it all
And what a great world that would be
Such a shame I belong in a foolish state of humanity.”
An answer was nowhere near
For I was sharing dreams with my own blended mind
And reality struck to my heart’s race
So the clash shall never again exist
Only a ruthless battle of my mental state
With a pinch of misery that lies ahead till the end of my time.
If my soul could speak,
It would ring a million words of love and disgust,
My silent laugh would echo through eternity
As my stare screams a mellifluous sound of epiphany.
A million candles lay on a sand made of gold
They sing a song of limerence, sad and bold
Carefully sipping from a glass made of steel
Oh, how beautiful it is to feel.
I can scent the petrichor wrestling with the air
As my mind blows away blindly falling in love with a morning prayer
But your shadow still makes my heart puerile
Oh, how inert it is to feel.
I shall make a blanket of the heavenly blue sky
And maybe then it will turn violet for you and I
But till then it’s pitch black, almost unreal
Oh, how violent it is to feel.
The Girl With Flowers In Her Hair 