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Morning sun is rising -
also does the moon.
All thoughts are diving
into the wetness of a dune.
They search the inner core
of a fruit with divers taste,
don't find it anymore,
identity is waste.

Deep in my memory
there is reason, naked truth.
Aren't they the hangovers
of an unreflected youth?
Aren't they the corner stones
of a vision once adored
that is ambigious:
The servant is a lord.

Twisting in inner streams
as a stranger in the night,
But in my view it seems
a homeland's shining bright.
An arrow without themes
is flying on the field.
Somewhere in my own dreams
the secret is unsealed.

We gaze at stars high above,
guiding a passsage unknown,
through effort of fear and of love
to conquer a crown,
a throne, liquid like vine,
on grounds of some deep wavy lakes.
Life is a forward drawn line,
while the drawer shakes.

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