A journey in creativity and faith
We draw close to each other
In the light of the street air
which squeezes trough the shades
A drop of air creaks back and forth between the windpipe and the lungs
My hand softly on your burning skin
You groan, pant
want to draw your breath
I sit beside you
You have an adult look
The tiny rasping breast
I hold you in my arms
My soul cries out for help
We hold on to a border of a garment
A second
Spirit
Air in a small mouth
We cling to the Word of life
I see my reflection in the shop window.
My limbs are stiff,
I can’t feel my body
I can’t move.
They take the dress of me
pants and blouse instead.
I lose my arm.
A person bumps into me
I lose the other arm and both legs
Where is my head?
Assemble me!
A person screws me together quickly
The silence of the closing hours is sneaking
The light is off
Darkness creeps in
The city is empty
I am empty
I’m stiff
I try to move
I hit the window
The glass cracks
A trembling clatter
Glass shatter
I fall
My head hits the cold asphalt
I lose my arms and legs again
Iooking at the starry sky
A Sound of foot steps approaches
The feet stop at my hair
The man bends down
He puts me together
raises me
A red drop rolls down my leg
I bleed
My limbs are not rigid anymore
I can move my arms and legs
He approaches me
Breathes into my mouth
My chest moves
He looks me in the eye
My feet are wet
as standing in a puddle
I want to move the feet
But discover that I’m standing
in the middle of a rippling source
Still water
Trickles out of his body
I bow and take a sip
I breathe
I feel my heart
I am alive
A power drill in my mind, building castles out of my thoughts.
The flesh is hungry, arms stretching out, and aspiring, planning, building highways
A plate with sweet fruits at my nose, my thought, my feeling
My ego weaving blankets out of moments and impulses, and they will vanish in a sewer
The flesh is dead, the shell is empty.
I can’t hide on the moon, on the couch, in the night, in sweets,
in the sunset, under my blanket, in nothingness or at the end of the world.
I have to get out and turn around. I’m broken, I can’t repair myself.
The high heels sink in the dirt. I stumble and the dress is no longer pink, but mud-colored
I fall on my knees and huddle as if the mud is a womb. I have to return to the light.
He must become greater, I must become less
I wake up to the sound of silence
And the song of a lark
The air tickles my cheeks
I open my eyes and see
A never-ending river of clear water
My feet hit something
Handcuffs on the ground
I meet a man, who is sitting on a rock
I ask him “Do you know whose those chains are?
“They’re yours” he answers, “Do you want them back?”
I shake my head
“Do you have faith?” He asks
I nod
He looks at the horizon
“All things are possible for Father”, he says
He arises and walks towards me
© 2024 Mariane Doktor, servant and writer
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
Recent Comments