LVT´s Friedrichsfelde  (draft) 

Restless, at times slumbering breeze.

At Coppistrasse 16, we took hold of each other.
We slept in the now pinky, poor and dark room
(although the afternoons were full of light).

Hardly recognizable,
the street, under the diabolic growth of flora,
yet all is silent.
We are obliged to be reckless or face early death.
These resilient, slightly shameless trees occupying all space.

A rock for me at the street corner,
here I stand, drench my body with petrol
and burn in violet flames.
Your voice calls me back and I ignite my body again.

I am mildly angry at these streets,
The actors do not arrive,
the roles are abandoned ships, unconsumed.
They used the place and the time and left,
cleverly erasing their traces.

Here are my hands, food and drinks.
Mute entrance of Volkradstrasse 8, light blue balconies.

What did we do, up there at our room in the clouds?
(Can you fly up from there into the summer?)
Why is it repulsively romantic
to wish we had not talked or walked
but motorcycled to unexplored woods, to dwell there
and only return for shelter when it rained?

And then, stay eternally indoors,
making love, infinitesimal exploitation of time,
sensing our colours, liquids, breathing each other
before colours pale into whiteness and liquids leak away.

Oh, I am lovingly angry at the trees,
carelessly standing in splendour and not dying.

Life is worthwhile
and my extreme attraction to you is worthy death.

Now resting at Charly´s Bistro,
a name, a badge on a fine suit,
I come to life again,
hopelessly programmed never to give up.

Anwar Al-Ghassani
Sunday, July 18, 2004