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  • Golden Silence

    Above, neatly perched on a baroque dome,

    Against backdrop of a clear blue sky stood Atlas 

    Gilded with gold, its lustre blinding the eyes beholding from below

    On his back was a globe, and by it, the weight of the world.


    Nearby, in front of a palace now turned museum

    A man stretches forth an arm, mumbling under cold breath.

    He asks for coins – a euro or hopefully two.

    The hand, his left hand, the one with which he begs, the one

    Not covered in a black wool gloves, bears all the telltale signs: 

    He's been up and down and a lot of places in between

    Yet, he is here, begging for Atlas to carry his weight too

    Wishing for a little chip off his gold lustre

    But Atlas in stuck in a time loop, spiralling in his own mythology – 

    A vicious circle of renaissance.

    Yet the man is here, before our eyes,

    In flesh and blood, and a naked cold hand. 


    Potsdam, Feb 2018