Kein Land, kein Volk, kein Name
Und doch durch alle drei.
Das ist das Wundersame:
Das Sein ist davon frei.
Gewußt, gelehrt, geblieben,
So viel im besten Sinn -
Im Herzen nie vertrieben
Und immer Neubeginn.
Die Sprache, sagt man, wäre
Ein zwischenmenschlich’ Band.
Dann greift in jeder Sphäre
Die unsre, Hand in Hand.
Im Gedenken an Hussam Saghir
12.04.2000
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You see, here you'll find poems of opportunity and seasons. They're mine, though, so I have to protect them.
Welcome! If you are willing to follow the iconian path, you should know that it is always you we are talking to, even if it is not. And that everything is true, even if it is not. We all are eternally united in the last space possible where even the impossible is real. We ought to believe the foretold: If we'll meet tomorrow, next year, or never, it doesn't matter, it's only time! And everything, even time is fiction.
By the way, typos and other mistakes - we know there are many. If you can be bothered, please let us know. Thank you! And for any legal issues, please contact us before we have to tell you that we're skinned. But you can also write, of course, if you like what you read. Please, write to the webmaster.
