Oh Berlin

Berlin, you blissful backyard of hidden footpaths.

You secret garden of blossoming hearts. 

You bustling underground of coffee-stained subway maps.

You aching backpack.

You proud and shameless walk home in last nights' crinkled clothes.

You kingdom to a traveling hearts' throne.

Berlin, you empty loft. 

You basements of bare-stripped wallpaper.

You hour-long waits just to get a glance in the door.

You roaring 20s, you silent 2000s.

You most unpretentious hipster.

You genuine, unironic appreciation.

You bohemians and children and the warmest place I've hung my coat.

You simultaneously ice-chilled bones.

You contradictions.

You stumbling on salted street corners.

You laughter illuminated by half-imagined headlights.

You sleeping in through sunlight.

You hiding beneath walls of white cotton castles.

You squeaky, squeaky bunk bed.

You nostalgia for new experiences,

You expat never exiting.

You creativity, you trust, you complete lack of angst,

you every familiar embrace.

You dream-chaser, you carpe diem, you dance anyway,

you every hopeless cliche.

Berlin, you thief.

You collection of stolen hearts.

You every past and future.

You home.

You home now.

You bring me, finally, home.

Erinnerungsstraße 1

I have just visited a home fenced in barbed wire and electric currents.

There are no children playing in the garden

but their shadows still carry stones up the backyard steps.

Their spirits still stumble and fall;

a history of horrors haunted by fog and mist

and hand-print stained walls.

Our palms are dirty with dust,

with the remnants of a past

whose past-times included genocide

and watching prisoners fly like parachutes

splayed open with despair,

landing on their own broken faith,

drowning in a river of blind belief

in deathly charisma.

There are no ghosts here.

It is too dark for even the dead.

There is no one left to blame.

Hate is too deeply ingrained in every wall.

We press flat hands against gas chamber doors.

We are begging of you, forgive us. 

It was never our chosen fate

to be a part of a people

that allowed any of this to happen in the first place.

-

Sit next to a boy on a bus.

Bump knees and place blame on undersized seats.

'Accidentally' fall asleep on his shoulder.

Never ask his name.

Never tell him what makes your mind wander to foreing places.

Learn the lines of his face as he sleeps in sunlight.

When he wakes,

Shyly lift an earphone from where it rests on his shoulder.

Listen gently.

Learn what makes him stir from slumber.

Do not laugh.

You are not here to judge nor fall in love.

As you hand it back, let your hand linger in his for a second too long

But always too brief.

Fall back asleep.

Smile inwardly at the melancholic beauty in knowing when you wake

You'll be alone.

But with a bittersweet memory of love

left tucked between romance and arm rests.

The sun had not yet let loose it's morning light

As I glanced over at him sleeping,

peaceful dreaming,

clothes unkept,

hair swept over eyelid,

stale breathing;

and I left..

just for the sake of leaving.

Update Party!

It's been far too long and I apologise. All my efforts have been going into traveling and appreciating life and documenting it in my travel blog (which you can find at http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog/roxyhart/2/tpod.html) and writing everything on actual paper with an actual pen as opposed to on the interwebs. 

Sincerest 'sorry's. The time to hesitate is through. Updates shall begin, written exactly as they were scrawled into my notebook, most likely at some ungodly hour. Hopefully crossing a series of different countries and thought processes over the last month or so.

Enjoy.

Final boarding call

This is our last day together, Sydney.
Let's not say goodbye just yet.
Let's sit and hold hands by the jacarandas,

Let's dance like God himself planned this.
I was always going to leave you, dear.
My staying here would be a murder suicide
A 9 to 5 desk job would rob me blind
But let's not talk such crimes on a day as fine as this one.

I know you've been crying, dear.
Your tears still stain the treetops.
Please stop,
It's not that I won't miss you.
We were just never meant to be
Monogamy ..
well, it never really suited me in the first place.

Let's not waste these last moments.
Let's pack Vegemite sandwiches
and run away to all our secret spots,
listen as cicadas sing me a proper send-off,
set off fireworks in Darling Harbour like it's New Years Eve
not just another year in which I leave you.

The countdown has begun, Sydney.
It's time to make your resolutions.
Swear you won't forget me.
After all, you were my first love.

Time turners.

The idea of seconds has never sat well with me.
Second rate, second chance, 

even first place ties
have always just reminded me 

of the seconds passing by.

Losing time, is a big fear of mine.

So much so 

clocks have never lasted long in our home.
Their hands fell at those of feathers
bearing down on them like firearms.

Sometimes it's hard,

to hear anything but menace in their heart beat
when once we were naive enough
we heard it as hope.