A place for a


Poem of home

Sun hides from my view, 
find truths that aren’t new. 
Feel like a child, cold, 
seeking for comfort. 
But the sun’s gone, 
different country. 
Feel the memory of pain, 
of craving love I could not gain. 
The wish is old and rude, 
not my loss is others’ loan. 
Every freedom time’s so frail, 
this is it, the purest mood: 
I just want to be alone. 

Don’t pretend you could’ve saved me, 
I am scared down to my bones.

This is a poem I wrote after my return from America in 2012, where I visited my father. Coming home, I was overwhelmed by the cold. And by the cold demeanor of Germans. And overwhelmed by the sensation of having known freedom and now being back in the cage, in a room of my mother’s flat. At that time, I had seriously considered – in some form – living with my mother forever, to make her happy, out of guilt.

Now Atlas would have to shrug.

I like this piece a lot, because it is honest. Yet it is not one of pity. It is one of loss, acceptance and apprehension. One of devastation, but not one of hopelessness. It is not a piece of intellect, but one of understanding. It uses simple words, yet the right ones. It’s not complex, but profound. This is one of the best poems I ever wrote. Probably because it was written at a turning point in my life.

This piece I created in a very unhappy, yet tranquil state of mind. Two months later, I moved out and began my own life.

Do you have a piece of art that you conceived in a time of change? One that reminds you of an important moment? Please share.

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