Dear Lover 🔊


dear lover,

move me with your clear direction, hold me in my passion
touch me with each breath you’re taking, melt away my walls
expose what is beneath it all
a glowing force
a dancing flame
a naked woman with no name
dear lover, with your solid presence warm my thin bare shoulders


dear lover, let’s catch morning dew and rain it in our gardens
with true and vivid colours let us paint a path, then run
and laugh with me as we trip and fall
as we change the hue
as our dreams we see
holding hands whilst running free
air between us, air is nothing, my dear lover, trust me!


dear lover, hear the ocean lap its love beneath our heartbeats
it’s ours to sail, to drink, to splash, to cleanse in every day
let us float on its calm surface
trusting, knowing
that we’re carried
we are weightless, we are married!
let’s dive deep into the water, free-dive for the pearls


open me
play with me
let me in

dear lover,
that is all I ask
of body, mind, and soul


Escaping Into Freedom (a short story) 🔊


His ivory walking stick made a harsh, clicking noise against the cobblestone as he walked down the empty alley towards his home on Elm Street. His steps reveled his frustrated thoughts, a mind caught in a circle of pride, judgement and impatience. He looked back on his evening with disgust. Another night amongst the so called social elite, filled with boring conversations and meaningless flattering. Impeccable acting within the rules of society. A game he was raised to master to perfection, with a polite smile on his face, but which he secretly dispised. “Fools“, he thought to himself. “Sheep running around aimlessly, lost without their herding dogs. Never questioning or reflecting, unaware of the fence surrounding them.

He himself was painfully aware of that fence. He’d learned to find its holes though, the cracks through which he – if he removed his hat, his clothes and his walking stick – could press his long lean body and escape for a moment. There he would dwell in the soothing beauty of freedom, in a place ruled by truth not doctrines, acceptance not judgement, understanding not rules. A simple place of honest existing. There he could love freely; an including, unconditional, limitless love. There he could be what he really was: free.

Eventually he always had to crawl back though, back to the responsibilities and duties of his privileged position. His mother sometimes looked at him with worry in her eyes. A mother knows a son’s sorrows. “Why don’t you marry, my child?“, she’d say in an attempt to ease his pain, but her words always came out empty, with a lingering echo from her own soul. For the freedom that was haunting him with its absence was haunting her too. They were wearing the same shackles, born into responsibilities toward those around them – not only family, but also servants, staff, the farmers depending on them. He was grateful for his privileged lot in life and he tried to fulfill his responsibilities, but sometimes he asked his God why his lot had not come with a matching mind. A mind capable of simply enjoying the game he had been asked to play, unaware of the existence of another world. A mind unacquainted with questions like ‘why’ and ‘what if’, uninterested in the truth. “Like those fools this evening“, he said out loud, and the unexpected anger in his voice had him suddenly stop mid-step.

The hit came from behind, without a warning. He lost his balance and tumbled to the ground, his back-head exploding in pain. In a dizzy gaze he saw the three men, their eyes filled with self-justice, their hearts emptied by hunger and despair. They turned him over, quickly stripped him of his clothes and showeled them into a sack. One of the men saw the signet ring on his pinky finger and swore as he struggled to get it off. “Let’s go, let’s go” he heard a voice hiss as distant footsteps came closer, and then an ice cold sensation filled his chest.

The irony daunted upon him, and a broken attempt of a laughter escaped his lips as he drew his last breath. He pressed his naked body through the fence and escaped into freedom.

‘Escaping Into Freedom’ is part of a collection of short stories picturing the final thoughts and feelings of characters of different times and circumstances as they surrender to life and embrace death.

Christmas Came Early


Christmas came early – I wasn’t ready!
My fridge was all empty, my house was not cleaned
Nothing was wrapped with beautiful ribbons
Nothing prepared to be opened and seen

Still Christmas came, though I tried to outrun him
To keep him in front, to buy myself time
“I want to be perfect for Christmas!” I told me
Purposeful, whole, enlightened, sublime!

But he didn’t care if I was ready
He simply arrived


Yes Christmas came early this year, when you found me
And although I tried to push Christmas away
You untied the ribbons, you unwrapped the wrapping
Of gifts I’d forgotten, of presents astray

You filled up my fridge with all that was missing
You helped me to clean, you brought in a tree
You smiled, and I knew then: there’s no use in running
‘Cus Christmas will come when HE’s ready, not me!

Changing The Story


I don’t know why it happened this time, but I’m back again
My body ice cold, aching, I can feel each individual cell fighting to survive
Emotionally, I’m experiencing dying
Mentally, I feel blank

I’ve made it alright through an intense day of meetings
Like a dying flower I’ve given it my all
But now, back in my hotel room, the exhaustion is overwhelming and I sink down on the carpet in the middle of the room and let my head rest against an armchair

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

It used to happen mainly in hospital situations
Going from calm and rational to fighting for my life in a split second, something no one would believe until they’d witnessed it themselves
Subconscious fear, consciously irrational, leaving me exhausted for days afterwards
But lately: this feeling of dying

I close my eyes, knowing there is hard work to be done
I empty my mind and I let myself travel… 


I see her there in the darkness in front of me, a child lying on the icy road
I kneel beside her and ask her what she needs
“Get me off this road!!!”, a hissing sound, despair in her voice
So I lift her up and I move her over to the shoulder

I put my arms around her and ask her what she needs
“I’m cold”, she whispers, “Blankets.”
So I wrap her in thick woollen blankets

I gently rub her wrapped up body and ask her what she needs
“Is there anywhere safe I can take you?” I wonder
“Is there anyone I can bring here to make you feel safe?”
I make suggestions, but she doesn’t answer
I can feel the bottomless fear inside of her
Nothing seems to give her comfort
So I hold her as best as I can
An unsafe little girl next to a road in the cold winter night

Suddenly a white horse appears out of the darkness, and there is some relief in her voice as she cries out “Shazmir, you came back!”

“Can you light candles all around us?” she asks after some silence
So I light thousands of candles in a circle around us
Brighting up the dark night

I ask her what more she needs
But she shakes her head and only says “please stay here with me tonight”
So I stay with her


Me, a beautiful white arab horse, flickering candles and a petrified girl wrapped in woollen blankets
She, waiting for death
Me, waiting for the morning
And I cry the tears I need to cry for not being able to protect her
For not being able to make her feel safe


Slowly, slowly dawn is coming
A pale winter sun breaking through the darkness
I ask her what she needs
She seems confused by the daylight and her answer comes slowly, but reluctantly she admits she needs to go home
So I put her on Shazmir’s back – it takes some tries to find a position that does not hurt her too much – and we commence the slow walk back home in the crispy winter morning

I ring the doorbell
Her parents open and I ask her what she needs
“I need to lie on the couch in the living room. From where I can see the ocean.” she replies
So we put her on the couch, and I ask her what she needs
“I need my family around me” is her answer
“I need them to talk and laugh and play right here next to me, so that I can still belong. I need to feel their joy that I’m there, not their sadness that I’m hurt.”
So the family gathers in the living room with her, continuing their lives by her side
Whilst she heals on a green couch – not in a dungeon by herself

I stay around for a while, watching her spirit rise, her face shifting, her body relaxing
But eventually I know I’m not needed anymore
I can hear her bubbling laughter as I sneak back into my own world
Knowing that she’s safe
That she won’t even miss me
Now that we have changed the story forever