Silk & Ash
(2008–2018)
I danced with sharks
in midnight seas,
composed, untouched,
with practiced ease.
The diamonds flashed,
the rooms were mine —
their power bowed
to my design.
But once — just once —
I dropped the guise,
let down my guard
beneath your eyes.You came in soft,
with shadowed grace —
a Schwergewicht
I couldn’t place.
A mirror
dressed in finest air —
and in your stillness,
I stayed bare.
You knew the game.
You played it well —
a mind
that cast a velvet spell.
I tasted truth
upon your skin —
a bond so rare,
yet held within.
You called me names
from lives before,
unlocked
a long-forgotten door.
A flower bloomed
then fell apart —
no soil,
no roots,
just open heart.
In silk and ash,
I dared to feel —
a fire raw,
so many wounds to heal.
I loved in silence,
past all law —
not for the game…
but for the awe.
Black heart,
white lies,
a crimson thread —
no words were spoken —
all was said.
Spellbound
by songs I couldn’t name,
you vanished
gently
from the flame.
No rules were kept,
no truths confessed —
yet still, I rose
and called it blessed.
For though
you never stayed
to see —
the ash you left
awakened me.
Unbound
(2018–2025)
…for the years that asked me to begin again
Part I —
The Descent into Inheritance
Where words were given, but love withheld.
I fell
from hands
that shaped my dawn,
old faces blurred,
yet led me on.
A whispered oath,
a broken chain —
while they stayed
comfortably numb
to my pain.
They loved in words,
but not in deeds,
left me
to drift
through foreign seas.
A stray heart
on velvet paws,
brushed soft
against their silent laws.
Part II —
The Weight of Blood
How family teaches silence before truth.
My grandmother’s prayers.
My uncle’s ghost.
My father’s hands,
too rough to hold.
My mother's sighs —
a house of smoke.
My sisters' words —
a rope of choke.
My aunt’s hush,
stitched to their fears,
and bowed
by debts
and aging years.
Their tongues grew hollow,
their hands turned cold,
till truth itself
was bought and sold.
The same old wounds.
The same old cost.
A lineage bent.
A compass lost.
Part III —
The Fall, and the Refusal to Stay Down
Condemned by silence, redeemed by choice.
They crowned me guilty
for their grief,
blind to the blood
that stained our feet.
Even as I fell
to my knees,
they heaped their stones
where mercy leaves.
No hand to hold.
No voice to guide.
And yet —
I rose.
From me,
inside.
I learned to stand
with trembling hands,
built frames from dust,
not from demands.
Part IV — The Breaking & Becoming
Release. Reclamation. Redefinition.
Schwergewicht
who once mirrored skies
revealed
the echo of their lies.
For love
that will not pay the price
is but illusion,
dressed in light.
I knelt
where ancient temples bled,
where salt and prayers
stitched what was dead.
I wept
the ache of blood and bone,
and laid their heavy names
on stone.
Released the ghosts.
Unstitched the weight.
I broke the chains
they could not see —
and named my soul:
untethered,
free.
Sovereign Veins
(1996 - 2025)
Part I —
The Country I Believed In
Where silence was gold, and sovereignty quietly sold.
I was born in a land
where silence was gold,
where secrets were vaulted
and never told.
Where the snow kept counsel,
the stones stood still,
and laws
bowed low
to the bankers’ will.
We moved in codes,
not sacred speech —
and held
our distance
out of reach.
But treaties
inked in other hands
began to shake
these sovereign lands.
They called it simple,
clean,
and right —
“fraud and the like”
passed overnight.
A line was crossed
none dared to see —
and with it,
fell our secrecy.
They smiled in suits.
We signed with grace.
But something sacred
lost its place.
A mirror cracked —
no war,
no scream —
just freedom
fading
into dream.
And still we asked:
Where is the scale?
Where is the weight
to match this tale?
Bern —
where is our reciprocity?
Where is the spine
behind diplomacy?Part II —
When the Circle Closed, I Stood Alone
What they could not hold, they tried to shame.
They pointed fingers,
named our shame —
then built the same,
but changed the name.
In Delaware,
the vaults run deep —
their secrets guarded,
silence cheap.
They circled close
with sharpened need —
debt-chained states
who watched us bleed.
Their taxes high,
their coffers thin —
they could not stand
what lived within.
So Europe turned —
all eyes on one:
the neutral hill
beneath their sun.
Jealousy,
masked as moral right —
they took our gold
and called it light.
And I,
a child outside the fold,
was marked the same —
too bright,
too bold.
I learned the cost
of standing free:
you pay
for what
they dare not be.Part III —
Where No One Looked, I Saw
Where they saw risk, I saw design.
You —
Schwergewicht
who touched my breath,
who foresaw cuts
to outlive death.
You sat
where giants chose their Spur —
one faced the growth,
one held the Krebsgeschwür.
And I —
once girl,
then voice,
then fire,
spoke of truths
they would not hire.
Wrote
what the structure
left unread,
as power’s path
unraveled thread.
I wandered
through the market’s ache,
where yield
replaced
what truth could make.
Slept
where empire lost its song —
and knew,
that what was built
was wrong.
They built it all
on brittle pride,
on men who take,
then run,
then hide.
No win-win pact,
no sacred vow —
just power
masked
as know-know-how.
So I rose —
not in revenge
or pride,
but with the earth
beneath my side.
And from the ruins
of report and debt,
I shaped a frame
they’ll not forget.
A model born
of pulse
and trust,
of futures
not yet turned
to dust.
Where reputation
stakes its claim —
and value
walks
without shame.Part IV —
Where Voice Cannot Be Bought
What they tried to silence now sings.
Let us speak
in sovereign tone —
not borrowed thought,
but voice
its own.
Let capital
not colonise,
but grow
where rooted visions rise.
I am not asking
for the past.
I am not here
to heal
too fast.
I am the silence
you once sold —
returned
in flesh,
and fierce,
and bold.
I am
the daughter of this land,
with ink-stained hands
and open stand.
The banker’s child.
A visionary seed.
The soul you broke
who chose to lead.
Let them hear —
from hill
to throne:
what can't be bought
can't be overthrown.
Mountains
do not bow
to fear.
Our rivers speak —
and I
am here.
To sing
what systems tried to hide.
To rise.
To write.
To turn the tide.
In Between (2025)
…where our breath understood more than words ever dared,
and silence held what hearts once shared.
Part I —
You Arrived like Dusk
Before I knew, I felt you.
You came like dusk upon the shore,
not asked, not planned —
and nothing more.
No storm,
no cry,
no blazing flame —
just presence
dressed in no one’s name.
You moved like breath
the wind forgot,
a silence
humming something sought.
You touched,
but left no proof or trace —
just air
reshaped
around your face.
Part II —
Where Something Moved in Me
What we never said.
I opened —
not to lose or prove,
but to feel something in me move.
A thread,
a pulse,
a shift in skin —
where stillness once had curled within.
Not all was shown.
Not all concealed.
Enough to know the ground was real.
Enough to feel the hush between
what could be known
and what is seen.
Part III —
You Left Like Morning Light
No goodbye. Just space.
I turned the key in quiet light,
between the pause
and day’s last flight.
You slipped like smoke
through waiting hands —
no break, no burn —
just unmade plans.
No weight was dropped.
No door was slammed.
Just presence
wrapped in silk, unplanned.
A breath withheld.
A glance withdrawn.
A leaving dressed
to look like dawn.
Part IV —
The Blessing in the Loss
The grace of what doesn’t stay.
And still —
I bow to what was true.
I bless the path
that led to you.
For what dissolves
was never mine,
though it once mirrored
the divine.
So let the ache
be soft and brief.
Let time not rob,
but bring relief.
Not all who stir the soul
remain —
some pass
to wake what must sustain.
Milk & Honey (1989 - 1995)
…for the girl between kingdoms.
Part I —
The Crown Before the Storm
Innocence, rural memory, first love & belonging
They crowned me queen in fields of hay,
where silence hummed
and dusk would stay.
A ribbon red,
the only child —
their eyes were soft,
their laughter wild.
My uncle’s gaze, a steady flame,
lit skies
that never spoke my name.
My aunt, a hush in linen skin,
held space
where life could tuck me in.
They fed me stories,
roots and sun —
before the soil
began to run.
Part II —
Displacement
Borders, loss, the fracture of home and mother
Before the winds of borderlines
split love from place,
and time from time.
Then came the twins,
two restless seas —
their cries
a storm beneath the eaves.
My mother, pale, too tired to rise,
her sleep a veil,
her gaze half-closed.
She loved in silence,
not in skin.
I watched the world
cave in within.
Part IV —
The Ache of What Wasn’t Chosen
Uncle’s disappearance, abandonment wound, survival instinct
My uncle — gone.
No words,
no chain.
Just love
too big to bear my name.
He let me go
like others do —
with hands that hold,
but never choose.
The quiet left.
The chaos stayed.
And something soft in me
decayed.
Part III —
The Crossing
Migration, abandonment, emotional detachment
No warning — just a suitcase packed.
Once Schokolade was gently stacked.
Sweet gold from lands
I didn’t know —
now I was sent
to call them home,
where order ruled
and rivers froze,
and warmth
was something no one chose.
They said it’s time,
and I obeyed.
The borders crossed.
The games unplayed.
I walked into a house of noise,
where no one paused
to hear my voice.
Part V —
The Woman Who Waits and Builds
Search for familiar love, sisterhood, healing & future promise
I searched for men
with dusk-like eyes,
but found illusions
dressed in ties.
I searched her hush
in other hands —
a quiet strength
that understands.
But found instead
sharp eyes, closed doors,
and women built
from silent wars.
Their softness locked,
their gaze a test —
I learned:
not every sister rests.
Still, somewhere deep,
the straw remains —
it smells of sun
and unspilled rain.
The girl they held is not yet dust.
She waits in me,
in bone and trust.
And I will build again one day —
not ruled by fear,
nor swept away.
But crowned
by one who stands
and stays —
who builds with hands
that do not sway.
Seide & Asche
Ich tanzte mit Haien im nächtlichen Meer,
unberührt, leicht —
doch mein Herz war schwer.
Diamanten blitzten,
die Räume mein Spiel,
Mächte verneigten sich
unter meinem Stil.
Nur einmal, nur leis’,
liess ich alles entgleiten —
vor deinen Augen,
die still mich begleiteten.
Du kamst wie ein Schatten,
ein Schwergewicht leicht,
ein Spiegel aus Luft,
der mein Innerstes erreicht.
Ich blieb ohne Rüstung
in deiner Ruh’,
verlor meine Krone
und fand meine Schuh’.
Dein Blick:
eine Sprache aus fernster Zeit,
ein Tor, das sich öffnet,
dann wieder verschneit.
Eine Blume erblühte,
fiel stumm in den Staub —
kein Boden, keine Wurzeln,
nur offener Glaube.
In Seide und Asche
wagte ich Mut,
ein Feuer, das Wunden
vergoss wie Blut.
Ich liebte im Schweigen,
jenseits der Pflicht,
nicht für das Spiel —
nur für das Licht.
Ein Herz aus Nacht,
ein Wort aus Schein,
ein roter Faden
spannte sich ein.
Keine Schwüre,
kein lautes Bekennen —
nur Lieder,
die stumm durch die Räume rennen.
Du gingst ohne Echo,
verlorst dich im Traum —
doch aus der Asche
erhob ich mein kaum.
