These snow covered mountains,

I hoped to be home,

Sent me back down to earth,

Reclusively lone.

My sore, aching throat

has spoken enough.

Will my numb muted words,

Still inspire some love?

Whenever I wonder

and wander cramped streets,

I tumble inquiring,

Impeaching the deeds.

Accepting another,

Though finding the flaw,

Seems so fundamental,

Seams real and seems raw.

The ontological structure,

When reality strikes,

So distant from your’s –

two humans, two psyches.

Delusions are broken and

Aspirations broke me,

Deprived of nights’ sleep,

I need to be free.

The hamster wheel spins

And you run your runs.

We inhabit one world Though,

live in different ones.

This poem was written in June 2022

IDIOCRACY

Where what seems true remains unspoken,

Where the burdened biography is relieved by bureaucracy,

Where every though your brain breeds gets broken,

Please, make yourself comfortable in this idiocracy.

The devastating devotion of the distorted grimaces,

That corner the last remains of moth-eaten sovereignty,

These newly formed jailers will burn you to ashes,

With their prudent and prolific lives in psychotic reality.

Neither eaten up by raw rage, nor sharp malevolence,

Fully fogged by the urban morals of opaque oblivion,

They wallow in moldy, rotten, mooching ignorance,

To flourish in their lethargic definition of the human religion.

The sound of the moth that leisurely melts in the bulb

Corrupts their minds and recaptures their egos.

While the terror of the final synaptic signal beneath the scalp,

Beats ever faster than their heartbeat echoes.

And the Rhone keeps on flowing, steadily and calm.

This poem was written in early 2022, traveling from Geneva to Frankfurt.