I see people around me
doing evil deeds
even within families
not everyone takes good
care of each other

I learned it as a child
listening
to the old stories
that the elderly tell:
people think themselves bigger

then they are, unless
they are a servant
and make themselves small
to have a share
as once in the past

Yes, as in the past
it can now be again
It is up to me
to arrange that, establish
the authority of the Lord

in the city and the land
of my life
to risk my life
with word and sword
for everyone's prosperity

It takes a week to travel
from Mecca to Jerusalem
but why should we go
with God in our midst?

A messenger brought a chest
covered with gold, and two rams' horns
in a purple cloth, with passionate words
about the forefather and the sacrifice

there on that mountain

We are living in the most sacred place
with two proofs of God
the horns as a sign
of the covenant

and the black stone that was white
in the time of paradise
the tangible reminder
of the disobedience

I passed on the stories
of my life at the table
That's how Muhammad learned to talk

and to long for the Young Age
of peace and justice -
a future we dream

more beautiful than reality
but still far away. Certain
are only the greed

and the hard work
until you get ill
and prepare

to leave
for Jazira in the north
where paradise awaits

I lay awake over it
We have failed
and there is no punishment

Devils robbed the treasure
of the gods as gods
They climbed through heaven

through the square of the gods
between the high walls
(the door remained closed)

Why? Why
is it not bad? Is it different
from what we think? What is wrong

with our thoughts? What should we do?
Make a roof? Desecrate the sanctuary
with armed men in the free zone?

Or leave it as it is?
Remove what is left?
And hope for a new era?

Will there be sand pirates
as long as there are people
living in sand?

The desert is in bloom after a day
of rain, at night the water dribbles

between the shoots of bushes
and young trees - a wise lesson

in politics, to distribute what is there
whoever the people are

and wherever they live, for
the rain and the earth are free:

a field and a garden for everyone
believing or not

in freedom and equality
believing or not

that God exists
and does not get tired
of giving mankind new chances

Hoping for a good life
we are willing to endure
the hardships, we persevere

in the face of eternity
in which we will be
respected and enjoy life

It was an ancient revelation
given to the merchant
from our midst, right here

in this holy place
where the despised eldest son
rebuilt the cube with his father

Just like him, we submit ourselves
to the holy promise
of many chosen ones

Some children are serious
They don't cling to
a golden hand or an angel
with large swan wings

They walk in circles around the void
in which the possibilities lie
They don't want to know anything
about the statues from the past

in which people think their lives
are recorded
Some children
prefer to go their own way

They like to be alone and in their hearts
they hold the reins
of the future, seen
in the night of the star

and my husband is such a child

Not even tents, some cloths, wet
cardboard and pieces of plastic tied
between mud bushes, children
limp with their mothers, everywhere

young men stomping around
looking in every nook and corner
of their heads how to tear
down the fence, leave

their hopeless misery
in this no man's land
to put love again
in the eyes begging for help

Who cares about them, who
among us breaks the indecision, who
brings water, a bed, a loaf of bread, who
does do something, who goes to them, who

dares to look them in the eye
from person to person?

In case of doubt you must
dare
and lose your balance momentarily
have confidence in yourself
that you will be all right

Dare to do
what you doubt
whether you will do it
or dare to doubt
against everything

and not to do
what is expected of you
what you thought to expect
from yourself, that you would dare
to do anyway, doubtingly

In case of doubt you must
dare
and not lose your balance
have confidence in yourself
that you can go a way of your own

Princes and traders need a consult
and the augurs explain to them
the flight of the cranes
the goddesses of fate

but the strict man
and his uncle turn away
They believe
his inner voice

although they doubt
who is speaking and they ask
themselves if it is possible
that they hear what is unusual

Their common sense thinks too
It knows a practical approach
and the necessary caution
because pride goes before a fall

unless you have enough good luck
and as precaution also clear out
of the way, what is in the way
so that you can go your own way

I could not stay, without an escort
we travelled under the seven heavens
and only later did I realise that
up there are the souls

of Adam - expelled like us
John and Jesus - the messengers
Joseph - rejected by his family
and Enoch - the living teacher

Aaron - still loved
Moses - the patient one
in the desert of unbelief
and Abraham - the first to surrender

With borrowed eyes I see
under the heavenly light the radiant
new Jerusalem, the city
that we are going to build here

When they are at your door
you already know, it already is
too big to comprehend

Heaven does not help me
I don't understand the higher purpose
of the war, I can only hope

for an outcome that gives it meaning
We are promised soft flesh of fruit
but we are given stones to eat

The odds turn, coalitions change
and we stay behind, without help
and love we just plod on

until a disease releases us
from the hard life
we never dreamed of

There is nothing more beautiful than the green
of palms after a long journey
through the desert, fresh water
and a shelter from the sun
But the people

watch you, it's all boredom
trapped between thick walls
(Everything better than the streets
  that stink of cattle and shit
  The flies lick your eyes)

There is nothing more beautiful than the colours
of silk and gems on the body
of a handsome woman, pearls and perfume
in her clothes, between her breasts
so that the people

watch you and your husband
spoils you with desire
grapes and sweet cakes
It is a lovely dream
that it will not pass

Magical powers bubbling up
from retorts of cellar alchemists
or vibrant in the blue blood

of sons of sons of grand princes:
old whispered secrets
and the dream of mastery

but only disappointments
have been found, poisoning
and the immortal superstition

in golden chromosomes
which want to live exclusively
once awakened

from their generation-
long slumber, germinated
in the age of germination

Gold mined in the golden age
Justice to be won in a new age
And grace in the age of grace

At times my heavy head roars on
angrily and the days remain dark

at times they are clear as in my dreams
is the room at the top taken by me

and are wishing-clouds serving me
for solid ground under my feet

Heaven has captured me
in beauty, mama said:
you know, people
always talk

bad about a beautiful woman
with a loving man, you are powerless
No one hears what you say
unless you cry and plead guilty
Then they believe you immediately

Heaven has captured me
in holiness, no man is allowed
to come near to me, I am an example
I have become a story

and I must wait inside
till I'm old enough, washed
white as someday the stone
will be white again, on the banks
where it all has begun

The free field, the blowing
of my hair, the waving
and flowing of the grass, only

obeying myself
No water surface, nothing
does shine but your eyes

to make me feel beautiful –
I despise seducing
in see-through clothes

I spit on being beautiful
to be counted
I disgust being beautiful

and therefore not be counted
I too walk the world!
I too do a lot of work there!

I too oversee what happens
I too know the people
and I talk wisely with you

He was not old, but old enough
to know that soon the pleasure
of girls coming into bloom
would slip away from him

As long as possible, as long as it lasted
he was still the man who, on the back
of his camel brought a girl
to his tent after a battle

She was ripe, on the saddle
she lost her first blood
and in the orchard he drank
honey with the Coptic girl

His wives smelled it
They belittled him
in their most seductive clothes
but he said it was allowed

He even wanted an ugly girl
Therefore, for some he became
the man who loved virgins
here and in the hereafter

Some people are too great
for a common name, they have
earned a title, the highest

praise that a name can express
however temporary their lives are
and may later be forgotten

no longer considered important
by poets who can enchant
a thousand nights with their tongues

and with half an eye on popular texts
blow up success stories
after the facts have settled down

making them greater than was imaginable
because then they become true, as old
as mankind and the world

So many spiders on one superweb
with the captains in the middle, as a seal
of the covenant that makes them mighty

The threads are strongly spun
but the jumpers on the edge
are hungry and have no more preys

So what else can the captains do
but go further and push the boundaries
because brotherhood improves the world

That is the great peace ideal
The loot and the taxes pay
for it and keep the spiders alive

With all their names
the captains swear and adjure:
the web is sacred, it has to be

larger, much larger, it will
have to grow worldwide
After that we'll see further

Like many girls, I got a reputation
for being beautiful, with long hair

but I do not care
I am no more than another

I learned, when I married
a simple man

I could live in a royal way
(caravans fill the houses and the stables)

but I don't believe
that the rich can enter

through the eye of the needle
in the gates of Jerusalem

They broke the stone
The pieces will lie in the mouth

as long as there are poor families

Today too, I will do the right things
Then no one will mock me

My revenge claws fast and far
until world peace is established
for lack of opponents

I don't need riches, I want power
but not for me, I'm a servant
The honour and the memory are enough for me

Let the best poets sing of me
name my deeds and praise them
as those of a great man:

the righteous hero of the sea
to Jerusalem, Damascus and Baghdad
Rome's strict father's hand

to the Himalayas and above
up to the seventh heaven

Trust is a chest full of knives
that you hand out to achieve something
Dangerous to life, but indispensable

I know it never goes well
in the fight against abuse
and all other (self-interest)

Yet I am not afraid
to divide
and rule

that old lesson
how to subdue the knives
so that they settle themselves

to peace benefits over blood-
shed, that is really a matter
of perseverance until I succeed

in uniting the people

The Old Man of the Mountain
teaches his wisdom
in the libraries

and the beautiful gardens
where, along wide paths
plants are always in bloom

At harvest time
the branches hang low
full of delicious fruits

Young women in light robes
tend the garden and the tables
where they serve the boys

with food, drink, and blissful kisses
all over their body, heavenly
as they say, it is there

as awaits them
if they follow the way, yes
they fancy they are there already

so spacious are their heads
from the resin in the biscuits
that death attracts them

Of course there are stories
beautiful stories that everyone knows
but tangible is only the stone

from prehistoric eternity
I look high between the stars
where it came from, so

there is Heaven's Gate
here Earth's Gate
and God's breath in between

This is not a temple
We are not unbelievers
who want to see God's nearness

smell his incense, hear
his voice in the silence
of their neediness

We gather at the gate
with the stone we broke
the cornerstone of the world

outside of paradise

I came down from the Arafat
and could not reach the city
I encountered three walls

built of reason, that fruit
from the tree of knowledge
that tempting serpent

with the bad name
Devil
the devil who spoke

to Eve: do it, eat
and to Abraham: don't do it
don't sacrifice your son

Who made his wife and son
rebellious
to stop him

but Abraham gathered stones
and chased away their words
which he already knew

from his own thoughts
that were too devout
for his reason

Seven times
seven times
he threw

The green angel is everywhere
I want to take revenge on her
but the horses snort

with happiness, ears forward
I am licking the stones
but they remain hard

They rain down on me
and tear
my clothes

The men look away
I cannot believe them
too bitter is the aftertaste

of their love, too hard
around my heart the clamp
of the law they preach

as if they were green servants
of a providence
that does not allow mistakes

I live in a paradise
within the walls of the power
of the rich, safe

without foreigners
violence and poverty
except for those

who are not chosen
or do not believe, they
are shut out

or shut up
between walls
within the walls

Don't ask why
Don't ask about errors
Don't ask about guilt

Yes, we are guilty
of the strict order
within the walls

and we are guilty
of the alliance
of rebellious citizens

People disappear
in the dark forest
of the new beginning

behind the swamp death
where is nothing else
to give food for thought

Is myopia sufficient?

All around far and near
the trees are always the same
past and the future

is hidden in children
who know nothing
but what they are told

Be careful with your words
because people disappear
in the dark forest

Believing in a new world
for our children's children
and able to wait a long time

making plans
for the divine time
which now begins, with plan A, B, C

and D for Door
to the future
of a Holy Land

with reinforced concrete
and faits accomplis
house by house

field after field, well after well
plundered, contaminated or closed
military area, the dogs loose

at children herding goats
children going to school
children of blind and crippled people
children without parents
children who shouldn't be here

It became war
through a quarrel that starts small
and doesn't know how to stop
And through honour, stubbornness
resentment, the destructiveness of men

Far from the turmoil of battle
the big countries are meeting
on the round top of the Olympus
they drink nectar and look away
in the distance how to proceed

The rich cities are pathetic
they pity the humans
lying one by one
in the dust, but the sun is shining
and says: let them fight it out for themselves

One supports one
the other supports the other
each holds his position
and evilly hatches plans
waiting for the dark

pondering about secret actions
telling to be the wisest
looking ahead further and
giving advice in the field
to speed up the end

Outside, the street is full of roles
barbed wire, you don't see them
behind the blinded windows
of formal peace

Inside everyone walks naked
in their clothes around the tower
of stacked seats on which
the Commissioner is sitting

He wiggles, the mouth full
of national interests and mutual care
The walls are decorated with names
Out of politeness I note mine

in the guestbook, sixteen pages
after a woman who has become famous
I leave my borrowed laurels
I don't want to rest on them

Someone says I must cry
but what should I cry?
That grass withers and flowers
fall off, but promises remain
forever unbroken?

Don't give up
climb a high mountain and cry
to all hearts the suffering
is over, the injustice, the nails
that hit through our veins pin
us down, and the barbed wire
of segregation that separates us

Break down the blockages
level inequality and pave
a holy way in the wilderness!
cry! break the silence!

Once there was prosperity here
thriving trade, a ribbon
of harbours full of ships:
the land of the Philistines
Now suffocated, enclosed
by the ghetto

There are Summer Rains
breaking us, bones
roads and bridges
quays and offices, roofs
lie on the ground
next to open sewers, smell

where we live, don't stay
there, safe far away
on the ramparts of your paradise
watching the fire
and the iron from heaven
Not ours

And after the rains appear
at night on the horizon
Autumn Clouds

I came here to keep the peace
but I am waiting for nothing
watching nothing

and recording it
in the logs
of the writing angels

with their sky-blue helmets
powerless against the thirst for blood
and nauseous from the smell

of the vomit in my mouth
while the ambulances sneak away
and the city is sprayed clean

I know the books of wisdom
and the rules how to live
without idols, yet modest

I know: a king does matter
he makes proud and servile
he sits on a throne of violence

I know: failure divides
nationalists in zealots
and dreamers, licking

their bitterness behind walls
of obdurate hope, dissatisfied
with a good life, yes I know

For 1000 years they've been fighting
in the name of the Force
of their desire

to enjoy princely
ignoring that peace is not free
and that there are no inhuman people

only people who pay the price
who know the words
and believe

in action

The zealots fight harder and harder
for their own state, own country
against the loss of their stories

Their frustration memory
the doom image of anonymously
and dispersed over the earth

having a good life
but not being chosen
and still not free

of strangers, their incomprehension
and selective envy and
above all the past

that obliges them under penalty
of loss of flag, loss of identity and of
everything that should cover the cargo

The cruelty from heaven
The far-flung death
The finally acquired land

and the permanent salvation
from the itinerant existence
of Nahor, Terah, Abram

and the daughters of the daughters
of the daughters of the daughters
of his daughters

Was it better in the past or only tomorrow?
It cannot be determined, everything changes
and the worlds of then and now only seem
similar to the fact that things are going well
to the turning point: too many people
for their way of life

Groups get in each other's way
They don't want to unite
and hold on to their heroes
who live forever because they did
the impossible and offer hope and comfort
in anxious days, alongside resentment

They indicate eternal enemies
for an everlasting war
to conquer a place in heaven
for everyone, yes we
common people are born
as divine children!

Afterwards everything can be
clearly seen in the sky, so
an invisible hand directs
the stars, the sun and the moon
even the kings on earth

as they say themselves, depending
of their own show, in the end
no army is strong enough
to save them, so
it is wise to kneel

urges the teacher with the ointment
who perfectly draws free-hand
circles on the board, so
he sits on the left hand
of the mayor on duty

who receives the golden threads
for the baldachin of power
which he serves or thinks to control
holy holy holy, intoxicated
by incense and blood, so

he continues to weave
his invisible hand

We follow our rules
We want to live safely
We demand the right

to live this way
It must and it will
succeed, praying

and making plans
repeating the words
to make them come true

The words harden
solid and impervious
to doubts

The words wash everything off us
We have a clear conscience
and we make a clean sweep

They say that we are back
home again, here
in this foreign land
where our ancestors once lived

They tell fantastic stories
and that we must persevere now
then the olives, the land
and the livestock will be ours

They are grateful to be here
in the land that, according
to them, we longed for
and which we must defend

They are so certain
and they take offence
at my considerations
of what peace entails

At the bridge under the Garden
of Poets, I sit and chew
on the world as it is
I see the people go
young, tired, or recklessly
defying the patron saint
that dangles from the interior mirror
Late in the evening they walk on the side
with packs or down timber
on their heads, crosses around their neck
on the shoulders of their souls
and as hangers in the wardrobe

The Symbol is everywhere
On the square it has holes
of the nails, living water
spouts from the copper
The redemption will come later
people are in a miserable state
I can see it on the faces
of Jesus in the stores
Sadly he looks at me
For sale for little money

A fan of songs halts
at spectators and life's emotions
purple and gold, betrayal
failure and consolation

A large beacon of light, a cross
carried very slowly
through the streets, so different
from 2000 years ago

In the beginning was the wood
and the wood became the light
of men, the sign
of eternal life

for those who want to see it
a happy ending
of peace and charity
more beautiful than in a dream

Love of neighbour, sometimes a cup
from which I drink my own blood
sometimes a heavy cross
that I want to bear, help me
and have mercy
when I fall

I want to watch, watch over
the good, I want to drink
milk and honey, sweeten what
is bitter, even the bitterest
death, and do no harm
to anyone

I want to give my blood
my heart, my life
as a resting place
for my saviour
and eternal happiness
will flow within me

From generation to generation
separate from the others
hoping for a place
where we are not strangers

For centuries uncertain
about our fate, wrestling
with The Name, we fighting
for a safe home

Seeking peace on The Mount
Driving out the new Philistines
who seek our lives
from the Lowlands

They die by the thousands
as their buildings collapse
Not a single pillar remains standing
for only the land, this land

the whole land, the whole city
the whole mountain, everything
from the river to the sea
can ease our doubts

The apocalypse survives any peace
harvests fail, authority falters
and breaks adrift, disgruntled
sons are born and
new wars are fought

From the wounds grows prosperity
that belongs to someone else
to a wolf
in sheep's clothing, to appearances:
a treacherous temptation

to entomb ancestors
in the Museum of Legends
and to forget their mission
under the banner of tradition
Long live the New Age

Just wait, watch
the signs, these
strivers will also be lost
doomed to downfall
as foretold

The Day won't come, it has already been
the plague, the beast, and all that's foreseen
the winner, swaying with the royal bow
victoriously putting up a show

the reddish horsetail, with its mowing moves
the black one, weighing people on the run
they will be swept away before his hooves
by the lightning of swords flashing from the sun

Who only wants the days, and not the night
lives shaven for the slaughter, like a lamb, in fright
and smothers anguish in pathetic bleating -
how could it be aware of what is coming?

An awful anger makes us ready to fight
relentless, sweet revenge is just our right
we'll bath in jets of spouting sacrificial blood
and scoff at them: Adieu! Die godless in the mud!

We laugh at other people and their cowardice
their rational delay of daily happiness
we laugh at old men and their powerless authority
when they are dreaming of regaining their vitality

Pity them, because they do not recognize
how volatile they are as parasites
have fun and pity people for their stupiddom
and always ask the question Why? with this conundrum

At night on the bald mountain
with the uneven steps
of narrow sectoral paths

I see witches dancing
between the names on the covers
of the knee-high graves

Bottle in hand
they lie down on the tombs
for some money

I live here with my husband
and four children, but untainted
stay the souls behind the wire

This afternoon, a Korean read
a poem by Zelda at her grave
in his language

He left a flower
I cook for the night men -
Soup with rat poison

I wake up

in the bright light
of the judge's chair
to answer
who I've been

this last day and
what it was heading for and
which choices I made and
it does not matter

how pleased I was
with myself and the music
of compliments for my work
and it does not matter

what I got done
or how able I was
in arranging and resolving
my own mistakes

and other people's business
and always hearing the question
with which humans I was human –
the attentive listeners

take accurately note of everything
in calligraphic writing on handmade paper
let me sign it
and throw it away gracefully

into the everlasting fire
in which my omissions disappear forever
and the lack of my deeds is blackening
a brand in my soul